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UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIOIOIII II IIIIII I

3 1293 N83

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is to certify that the
dissertation entitled
VARIATIONS ON THE USE OF SILENCE IN FOUR
SPANISH PICARESQUE NOVELS:
THE PICAROS' QUEST FOR A VOICE

presented by

Alison Jane Ridley

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

Ph .D. degree in Spanish

011.1 191111

Major professor

 

 

Date September 3, 1991

MS U i: an Affirmative Action/Equal Opportunity Institution 042771

 

 

 

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LIBRARY
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I University

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VARIATIONS ON THE USE OF SILENCE IN FOUR
SPANISH PICARESOUE NOVELS:
THE PICAROS' OUEST FOR A VOICE

BY

Alison Jane Ridley

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of Romance and Classical Languages

1991

 
 

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ABSTRACT
VARIATIONS ON THE USE OF SILENCE IN FOUR
SPANISH PICARESOUE NOVELS:
THE PICAROS' OOEST FOR A VOICE
BY

Alison Jane Ridley

In Lazarillo de Tormes, Guzman dggAlfarache, La picara
Justina and El BuscOn, silence is an important narrative
device that is used to specific ends by narrators and implied
authors alike. The picaros often use silence to deceive
their masters and to heighten the illusion of their narrative
control, while the implied authors attempt to subvert the
picaros' authority by imposing silence upon them. What
results is a struggle between the implied authors and the
narrators for control of the text.

These picaros use the first person pseudo-
autobiographical "I” to achieve a degree of autonomy, an
autonomy that was denied other picaros who were restricted
narratively to third-person point of view. Lazaro, Guzman,
Justina and Pablos are self-conscious narrators who are aware
of their ability to manipulate words and silence. Their
quest is to acquire a voice in text that was denied them in
society, and the act of narrating provides them with the
means to reach that end.

Standing in the way of their success is the implied
author who attempts to silence them by intruding upon their

discourse and making them out to be unreliable narrators.

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Superficially the picaros appear to betray themselves through
their narrative contradictions and illogical silences, but
when examined more closely, the presence of the implied
author can clearly be surmised within their words. It is
precisely the readers' ability to recognize the progressive
silencing of the picaros by the implied author that permits
us to see them as subverted, victimized personae. The
silence to which they are subjected, which initially is
perceived as an impediment to their freedom of expression,
can now be viewed as a positive force that affords them a
certain degree of autonomy in the text.

Silence then becomes an integral component of the
picaros' discourse and a decisive tool in the struggle for

authority in these four picaresque novels.

Copyright by
ALISON JANE RIDLEY
1991

For my parents

In memory of Professor Dennis P. Seniff

ii

 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my director, Professor Robert L. Fiore, I wish to
express my warmest and most sincere thanks for his guidance,
support and friendship over the years. His continual faith
in me proved invaluable in the realization of this
dissertation.

I would also like to thank Professor Malcolm A.
Compitello for always believing in me and for encouraging me
to stay at Michigan State.

To Professor Mary S. Vésquez I wish to extend a special
acknowledgement. Her kind words and interest in my ideas
gave me the motivation I needed to continue writing. Most
importantly, however, she helped me to believe in myself.

I am especially grateful to my Chairperson, Professor
George P. Mansour, for his helpful advice and unfailing
support.

For their guidance, friendship and kindness, I must
acknowledge the following people who have made such a
difference in my graduate school career: Professors Frieda S.
Brown, Michael S. Koppisch, Lucia Lockert, Helene Tzitsikas,
Ann 8. White and the late Dennis P. Seniff.

Finally, I wish to thank my many wonderful friends who
have been such an important part of my life at Michigan State
University.

iii

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

Chapter One:

The Picaro and his Genre

Chapter Two:

Defining Silence

Chapter Three:
The Silent Struggle for Authority

in Lazarillo de Tormes

Chapter Four:
Repentance and Vengeance: A Study

of Silence in Buzmén de Alfarache

Chapter Five:

La picara Justina: Silencing the

Female Voice and Redefining the Genre

Chapter Six:
Pablos de Segovia: Defying Silence in

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CONCLUSION

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76-113

114-163

164-198

199-246

247-250

251-267

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INTRODUCTION

The act of textual composition provided the picaros of
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries with the opportunity
of a fictional lifetime. The text presented itself as a
means of breaking free from the silence and anonymity that
was imposed upon them by the society of their time.
Recognizing this unique opportunity for apparently
uninhibited self-assertion, the picaros took on their roles
as narrators and authors with optimism and zeal. Considering
the self-consciousness of their function and their goal, the
way should have been paved clear for their success. The
resultant texts, however, present an image of the picaros
that is antithetical to their proposed intention of asserting
themselves through the act of writing. The initially self-
assured, self-conscious authors become unreliable,
contradictory narrators who appear unaware of the
inconsistencies in their words and their actions. It is
these inconsistencies that rob the picaros of their textual
authority and return them to the silence and anonymity from
whence they emerged.

In spite of the resultant picture of the picaros as
“Sprehensible and unreliable narrators, they can nevertheless

Stlill be perceived as victims both in their texts and of
tu‘EEir texts. It is specifically because of the reader's
r‘aillization of the paradox between the narrators' self—

to“ sciousness and their resultant self-betrayal that this

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image of victimization can be surmised. The present study
evolved as an attempt to reconcile and understand the
differences between the way that the picaros portray
themselves and the way that we perceive them. The answers to
this incongruity lie within the narrative structures of the
texts themselves, and the dialectical relationships that
exist within those structures. The result of this study will
be to show that the picaros are not completely silenced by
their texts and that they do acquire a voice that allows them
to assert themselves in a positive manner that was denied
them on a societal level.

The picaros, who appear to believe in the control that
they have over the composition of their texts, remain unaware
of the presence of other voices that intrude upon and inhabit
their discourse. Among these voices is the implied author,
whose presence is the primary deterrent to the picaros' goal
of textual self-assertion. We will see how this intrusive
entity, that can be identified through the narrators'
silences and the contradictions and inconsistencies in their
speech and actions, works to undermine their textual
authority and to silence their voice. It is precisely the
reader's ability to recognize the progressive silencing of
the picaros by the implied author that permits us to see them
35 subverted, victimized personae.

The novels to be discussed in this dissertation are

Ldééiégillg_gg_lggmg§, Guzman de Alfarache, L; picara Justina

‘ar‘ci E1 BusEOn. These texts were chosen specifically because

c,1F their use of the pseudo-autobiographical first person

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narrative. It is this tool that gives Lazaro, Guzman,
Justina and Pablos the appearance of speaking and writing for
themselves. The narrators therefore have the ability to
manipulate point of view, and the success to which they do so
determines the degree of independence that they are able to
achieve in their texts. It is speCifically because of first-
person narration that the dialectic between the picaros and
the implied author can be surmised, because without this
dialectic, the narrators would be perceived as they are
portrayed; as unreliable and reprehensible picaros. In
essence, it is the picaros' ability to speak for themselves
with the narratorial "I” that saves them from being
completely silenced by the subversive implied author.

In order to make the importance of first-person point of
view even more apparent it would be useful to look briefly at
two other picaresque authors who renounce first-person in
favour of third-person narrative. The result of the switch
in point of view in Salas Barbadillo and Castillo Soldrzano's
novels is that their picaros do not manage to acquire an
independent voice. Therefore, they become actors, playing
out roles that were written for them by their authors. There
can be no deviation from the script because the characters
have no voice with which to argue their textual fate. An
amniscient narrator tells the reader what the picaros do

irHstead of the picaros telling us themselves. Because of
thEeir textual silence, there can be no dialectic between
‘at‘ithor and character, and therefore there can be no struggle

12°" control of the text. The author's is the only voice that

 

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Considering that the topic of this dissertation is
silence, it would almost appear more logical to study these
later picaresque novels that subject their picaros to the.
most radical form of silence. The intention of this study is
not to confirm the picaros' textual silence, however, but to
refute it and to save them from it. A discussion of silence
in the third-person picaresque texts would be brief, because
there is little to say about the picaros beyond what we read
about them on the page. In the first-person texts, on the
other hand, it is the intratextual tension between the
picaros and the implied author that allows us to see beyond
the written word to consider the dialectic that exists
between these two personae. As we shall see, it is through a
study of silence that we will ultimately be able to assign a
degree of independence to the picaros' voice that will save
them from the silent anonymity that the implied author
threatens them with.

In the chapters that follow, the implied author's
imposition of silence on the picaros as a means of narrative
subversion will be discussed, as will the narrators' self-
conscious use of silence in order to assert their authority
in the text. Silence will be examined from its most blatant
Uses such as when characters simply refuse to speak, to its

”NDPe abstract use as a narrative device that is used by the
Various textual personae in order to alter the direction of
Itt‘Ie text. Hopefully we will see that silence is not an empty

ahd negative device, but a communicative and powerful tool

 

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that can be used to aesthetic, creative ends.

Chapter one serves as an introduction to picaresque
fiction. Considering the wide range of critical thought
regarding this enigmatic genre, it is necessary to delineate
what the words ”picaro" and "picaresque" have meant to
scholars over the years. After a panoramic examination of
the genre, the critical approach that will be used in this
dissertation will be discussed briefly.

The goal of chapter two is to trace the evolution of
critical studies on silence, from its use in religion and
philosophy to its application in literary forms such as
poetry, drama and prose. The approach is broad, but is
intended to show how silence has evolved from initially being
understood only in terms of absence and emptiness, to being
viewed as an important and useful narrative tool that can be
used to positive and communicative ends. At the end of the
chapter, the methodology to be used in the ensuing discussion
on silence in the picaresque novels will be explained.

Chapter three is an analysis of silence in Lazarillo de
Tormes in and its use as a vehicle through which the struggle
for authorial control between the narrator and the implied
author can be surmised.

Guzman de Alfarache, which is the focus of chapter four,
discusses the narrator's manipulation of the text through his
digressions, moralizing tales and interpolated stories. We
will see that these appended tales serve to defer the
reader's attention away from Guzman, who, in the process of

talking about others, manages to silence himself and his

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sins. The author's attempt to discredit Juan Marti's
spurious character and sequel of Guzman de Alfarache through
the silencing of the character Sayavedra will also be
explored. As we shall see, this "fictional exorcism" does
irreperable damage to Guzman's credibility in the text.

Chapter five studies the silencing of the female voice
in LOpez de Ubeda's La picara Justina. It also discusses the
author's novel as a literary experiment of sorts that was
offered as a response to previously written picaresque texts.
LOpez de Ubeda disagreed with the incorporation of of
didactic and moral lessons in a body of texts that he thought
were meant primarily to entertain. He therefore omitted
these aspects from his text, and at the same time, silenced
the interiority of his picara. Justina's function in the
novel is to serve as a narrative device that communicates an
entertaining story, and therefore, LOpez de Ubeda saw no need
for her to be psychologically complex. In fact, the only
emotion that Justina is allowed to feel is happiness. Her
supposed "freedom" to be happy, however, implies the most
radical form of authorial subversion and silencing that we
will see in this analysis of the picaresque novels.

The approach taken to studying Guevedo's El Buscbn in
chapter six is somewhat unconventional. Instead of viewing
Pablos as the most silent and least autonomous of the picaros
(which appears to be the most prevalent critical opinion),
this study attempts to prove that he is the one who is most
conscious of his marginal position in society and the text.

Pablos, more than any of the other picaros we have studied,

7
realizes the impossibility of his designs to advance
socially, and yet he refuses to give up. The act of textual
composition will be seen as Pablos' last defiant attempt to
assert his voice, even though he appears to understand the
futility of his act. Pablos, therefore will become our most
vociferous narrator, and the one who refuses to be silenced
without a fight.

A study of silence in these picaresque novels can
provide the reader with invaluable information about the
characters, narrators, hypothetical readers and authors
(implied and real), and the complex dialectic that exists
between all of those voices intratextually and the real
reader extratextually. When attempting to understand
silence, we must look beyond what is left unsaid to consider
why it is left unsaid. Similarly we must learn to identify
the various guises through which silence presents itself.
For instance, silence can be communicated through
contradiction, irony, over-omniscience, voice-over, self-
interruption, circumlocution, editing, disgressions and
interpolations, to name just a few. Silence does not
communicate silence, it communicates words beyond its
silence, and those implied words can be an extremely powerful
device in the act of textual composition as we shall see
shortly in the ensuing discussion on silence in the

picaresque novels.

Chapter One

The Picaro and his Genre

The Evolution of thg Picaresgue Novgl in Spgifl,

The purpose of this introductory chapter is to examine the
evolution of the picaresque genre from several different
perspectives. In this particular study, the parameters of
the genre will include only Spanish works, beginning with

Lazarillo dg Tormgs in 1554 and ending with Estebanillo

 

Gonzélez in 1646. The approach is panoramic in that it
discusses many different theories in an attempt to
demonstrate the enigmatic and complex nature of this body of
texts. None of the critical appoaches that will henceforth
be discussed is being refuted or challenged. Their inclusion
simply demonstrates how diverse and vast the scholarship on
this subject is. After exploring the historical and literary
influences on the evolution of the picaresque novels, the
multifarious role of the picaro will be discussed. Finally,
the narrative structure of the works will be examined in an
attempt to understand not so much what the picaresque genre
is, but what it does and how it functions.

There have been numerous attempts by scholars to
correlate actual historical and societal events with the
development of the picaresque genre.‘ Their general assumption
is that the literary works present a portrait of the
deterioration of Spanish society in the sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries, or that the historical climate may

9
have served as a catalyst for the emergence of these works.
Spain of the sixteenth century found herself in a time of
crisis,2 the seeds of which were planted in the reign of the
Catholic kings (Del Monte 34) and which intensified through
the subsequent rules of Carlos V, Felipe II, III and IV. At
the beginning of Carlos V's reign, Spain's problems were
evident, but they were not seriously addressed at that time.
In fact, attempts at reform were quickly stifled. The defeat
of the Comuneros in 15213 is one example of a failed attempt
at change, the result of which was disastrous with regard to
the development of the then budding bourgeoisie and to the
direction that Spain would take thereafter. The monarchy,
which until that point had been contractual, became absolute
(Maravall 49), and the consequences of this move to
absolutism were extremely profitable for the wealthy and just
as detrimental to the poor.

Carlos V led Spain into an endless strand of battles
that were waged in order to preserve and spread Christianity
and to win new territories. Alberto del Monte points out
that the obsessive campaigns to conquer and convert on the
part of the Emperor could well have been the impetus for the
impending crisis: "El comienzo del reinado de Carlos V, pues,
no 5610 sefiala e1 agotamiento econOmico de Espafia, sino
tambien el fracaso de la guerra cristiana” (38). While the
moneys accrued from the sale of exports from America were
used to finance these costly wars, Spain and her people were
becoming increasingly destitute. At home, agricultural

production and industry began to wane due mainly to the lack

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of labourers and a steady decrease in population which
continued well into the seventeenth century. The population
decrease reached a critical point between 1609 and 1614
during the reign of Felipe III when the mggigggg_were
expelled from the country. This group comprised a major
portion of the Spanish work force, and its absence was sorely
felt. All tolled, the population of Spain suffered a 25%
decrease between the years of 1600 and 1650 (Del Monte 69-
70). Other reasons for the population decline were the
plague epidemic at the beginning of the seventeenth century
and the massive emigration of people to America in search of
a better life.“

The foreign policies of the kings, the decrease in
population and the absolutism of the monarchy led to, and at
the same time, were a result of, severe economic problems in
Spain. The consequences of these factors was an ever growing
rift between the aristocracy and the poor. The population
gradually divided into two distinct groups, the rich and the
poor. Although a middle class existed, it remained anonymous
and silent in the face of the crisis.° Maravall observes: "al
final del XVI se acentua y agrava en sus consecuencias la
distancia entre una nobleza rica, reconstituida en sus
families ostensosas y violentas, y una masa de pobres cada
vez mayor y mas miserable" (139). Many of the nobles were
exempted from paying the taxes that were imposed on the
masses and this created friction betweeen the two classes.
The poor farmers and labourers were the ultimate victims of

governmental policies that favoured the rich and hurt the

11
poor. Because of heavy taxation and an almost complete lack
of rights, the poor people had few options open to them.
They could either attempt to survive in their present state
or they could migrate to the cities in search of other
opportunities. Those who chose the latter course of action
were more often than not forced to resort to begging in order

to survive. Mendicity became such a widespread problem in

the cities that decrees had to be made in order to limit the
number of beggars: ”una pragmatica de Carlos V en 1540
prohibe la mendicidad en general y obliga a trabajar a
cuantos se hallen en condiciones para ello" (Maravall 46).
It soon became apparent, however, that begging could not be
prohibited and in 1565 Felipe II changed the law in order to
allow it to resume in the cities, but with some restrictions.
Although shelters and hospitals were set up to aid the
destitute (Del Monte 70, Maravall 47), these humanitarian
gestures did little more than to help promulgate the number
of professional beggars in the major cities.

Considering the unhappy plight of the poor Spanish
pecuole in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it is easy
tr) iJnagine how they fell into a financial and psychological
dapression from which there appeared to be no immediate
escape. Critics such as Del Monte, Maravall and Francis see
a correlation between the above mentioned social, historical
and economic conditions in Spain and the emergence of a new
literary form in the mid sixteenth century. For example, Del
Monte States: "La desesperaciOn social, y su consecuencia

inmEdiata, la abyecciOn moral, contribuyeron a forjar el

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picaro" (70). Maravall similarly sees the connection between

historical and social factors and the advent of the
picaresque genre, but his approach is not positivistic. He
recognizes the underlying literariness of the genre and only
attempts to make a comparison between historical and literary
factors, not to suggest that the latter is a reproduction of
the former: "Sin duda, la literature picaresca no coincide ni
met-10s se identifica con la realidad social y de ninguna
manera puede interpretarse la primera como reflejo fiel de la
segunda. Un proceso, muy diversificado, de elaboraciOn

1 iteraria las separa" (159). The picaresque novel is not
Simply a reproduction in text of Spanish society in the
Sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but is more probably the
r‘eSult of an attitude which arose from historical and
si=3¢::i.etal circumstances, the spirit of which was subsequently
ai=li31ied to a literary form and setting, similar to and yet
cliS‘tinct from its societal and historical prototype.

Another important critic who studies the evolution of
the picaresque novel from a socio-historical point of view is
AleWander A. Parker. His book Literature and the Delinguent
e><amines the genre from the perspective of societal
Clelinquency. He argues that Spain was not the only country
in Europe in a state of degradation in the sixteenth an
SPavehteenth centuries: "It is surely unquestionable that, if

the new realistic novel of the sixteenth century needed a
SQCiety in which vagrancy and delinquency were prominent, it
:Duld just as easily have been born in any other country as

in Spain. The material was abundantly to hand everywhere"

13
(12-13). He claims instead that the genre emerged from a
sense of morality which was deeply rooted in the
personalities of the Spanish people and which was also
intimately related to the religiosity of the nation as a
whole. For Parker, the Council of Trent and the subsequent

moves toward religious reformation were the impetus behind

the creation of the new genre:

The Spanish churchmen of the Counter-Reformation,
in pursuit of the policy laid down by the Council
of Trent of re-imbuing literature with religious
and moral values, therefore advocated replacing the
untruthful romances by a literature that would be
truthful. By this they meant one that would
promulgate the truths of the Christian faith and a
sense of moral responsibility based upon the actual
problems of real life and upon the acceptance,
through self-knowledge instead of escapism, of the
actual weakness rather than the potential heroism

of human nature. (21)
This assumption is only plausible if one accepts that the
picaresque works did present a picture of moral
responsibility and religiosity through their picaros. It is

also important to remember that the Council of Trent occurred

 

after- the publication of Lazarillo de Torm3e_s. For Parker
this.is not a consideration, however, as he does not consider

the Lazarillo to be a member of the picaresque family proper.

 

HE Views it instead as a precursor to the true picaresque
prc’totype, Guzman de Alfarache. Although Parker does not
acknowledge the Lazarillo's position in the picaresque genre,
hE’still hints at its moral and religious impetus: "It is out
(bf this Izlimate of social satire born of the urge to
r~91195-0‘4'5 reform that Lazarillo de Tormes emerged in 1554"

(20% It is difficult to accept that the picaresque novels

14
emerged as a result of a move toward religious reformation.
It is especially perplexing due to the fact that it is indeed

difficult to identify a truly religious and moral picaro

for instance, that Guzman's so-

(especially if one believes,

called conversion is merely a literary front). Lazaro

Carreter argues vehemently against Parker's theories by
claiming that the latter's perspective is too narrow in its
ideological and subjective approach and that it lacks an

awareness of the literariness of the works.“ It is not the

intention of this study, however, to refute Parker's theories

on the evolution of the picaresque genre. The purpose of

presenting two opposing points of view is to demonstrate both
the difficulty critics have had in reaching a unanimous

decision on what the picaresque genre is and also to point

out that every study, no matter how controversial, in some

way sheds new light on the genre as a whole.

Lazaro Carreter believes that Parker neglects the basic

literaminess of the genre in favour of a socio-historical

approach, but Parker really does acknowledge and elaborate

Upon the literariness of the works. For instance, he

Observes that: "The first Spanish novels can indeed be

cDnsidelred, historically, as reactions against pastoral
”ovals and novels of chivalry, but as alternatives not as

Siatires.. We find in them no sign of parody of idealistic

‘Fiction" (Delinguent 19).

r‘eture crf the works, he focuses on the importance of studying

By identifying the intertextual

What Preceded them in literature, not just in history, in

Qrder ‘10 understand the emergence of the genre.

 

 

:’eat

9' “

‘91

15
In order to better grasp the idea of intertextuality in
the picaresque novels, it would be useful at this point to
examine the evolution of narrative art and to identify the
literary precedents of the genre. Robert Scholes' and Robert
Kellogg's theories on the emergence of written narrative will
be the source for the following discussion. In their study,

The Nature of Narrative, Scholes and Kellogg begin by

exploring the transitional nature of the epic which
represented the end of an age of oral storytelling and the
beginning of an age of written narrative. The epic involved
a traditional story, or mythos, and a passive storyteller
whose primary impulse "is not a historical one, nor a
creative one; it is re-creative. He is retelling a
traditional story, and therefore his primary allegiance is
not to fact, not to truth, not to entertainment, but to the
myUnas itself" (12). As narrative art began to develop and
change, authors gradually strayed from recreating a
traditional story and began to diversify and to introduce
Creativity to narrative art.
One of the great developmental processes that is
unmistakable in the history of written narrative
has been the gradual movement away from narratives
dominated by the mythic impulse to tell a story
with a traditional plot...ln the course of this
evolutionary process narrative literature tends to
develop in two antithetical directions. (12)
Narrative art bifurcated into two opposing branches: the
at“pirical and the fictional. The empirical branch of
rtar'atrvse can be further subdivided into two categories: the

hiStoriCal and the mimetic, and the fictional branch can also

bfi UFOKEH down into two groups: the didactic and the romantic

 

16
(12-3).

In Spain, the first narrative impulse after the "epic
synthesis" (Scholes and Kellogg 13) was toward the fictional
branch of narrative with the advent of the chivalric and
pastoral romances. The allegiance of the romances was to the
ideal and the fantastic and they portrayed an "ideal world,
in which poetic justice prevails and all the arts and
adornments of language are used to embellish the narrative"
(Scholes and Kellogg 14). Although romances involve a
creative impetus, they are similar to the epics in that the
art of storytelling is still basically nonproblematic. In
other words, literature was, for the most part, still meant
to entertain an audience that would be passive, not active in
the storytelling process. Also, when stories owe their
allegiance either to a traditional story or to an ideal, the
authority of the storyteller is rarely questioned.

Picaresque novels emerge in part as a reaction against
this idealistic means of storytelling: "...la novela
Picaresca nace sencillamente como una reacciOn antiherOica,
9” relacidn con el derrumbamiento de la cabal leria y de los

mitos epicos, y con la peculiar situaciOn de vida que se
c=I"earcu-I los espafioles desde los fines del siglo XV"

( "Per-Spectiva" 114). It is difficult to classify the
picaresque works specifically into either the empirical or
the fictional branch of narrative art as they contain
Silementsi that are applicable to both. Their primary
t:c"""'91a"=‘-:ion is with the mimetic subdivision of empirical

Narrativegr Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to consider

yq-\p0‘
I ha

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Ens» ~

is be
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Ia'r.

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17
them only in terms of mimesis. Some of the picaresque novels
also offer moral lessons which can be associated with the
didactic subdivision of fictional narrative. Furthermore,
the later picaresque works (El Buscdn, for example) use
complex language and linguistic tools as a means of
embellishment which associates them superficially with the
romantic division of fictional narrative. In the picaresque
novels we witness the beginning of a synthesis between the
empirical and fictional branches of narrative art, and
according to Scholes and Kellogg, it is this synthesis that
is the key to the genesis of the modern novel. Although
Cervantes and his masterpiece Don Guijote are credited with
being the first author and text to accomplish such a
Synthesis, the picaresque novels definitely experimented with
both branches of narrative art, laying a foundation from
Undc11 Cervantes would proceed to create what has often been
Called the first modern novel. As Claudio Guillen points
out: "On the editorial and literary levels, Cervantes'
seminal novel was an inspired response to the challenge of
the newborn picaresque genre" ("Genre" 146).

Ir) the picaresque novels, in addition to achieving an
earlY fusion of the empirical and fictional branches of
TTarratinve art, an evolution in the roles of the author and
the reader also occurs. Whereas the authors of the epics and
the romances could officiate and direct what happened in
their texts from a distance, claiming allegiance to a mythos
Dr an icieal, the picaresque authors deal with "la rutina

"‘DDOtPDa de cada dia" (Zamora Vicente 12), which is a more

 

18
immediate and recognizable reality. They present a story and
a setting which are hauntingly familiar to the reader. This
familiarity arouses the reader's curiosity and lures him into
an active rather than passive role in the text. In addition,
some authors invite readers to participate in the story by
directly addressing their fictional counterparts in the novel
and by giving them instructions on how to read the text.
This technique is common in such picaresque novels as
Lazarillo de Tormes, Qggmén dg Alfarache, La picara Justina
and El Buscdn. In other words, the nonconflictive, linear
relationships between author-text, reader-text and author-
reader that were generally evident in the romances of early
written narrative are replaced in the picaresque novels by a
complex dialectical relationship between author, reader,
protagonist and text.

Part of the reason for the emergence of the picaresque
novels was due to the authors' increasing awareness of the
vast possibilities presented by written narrative. They
experimented with these possibilities and realized that their
roles as authors could be creative, not merely recreative, as
had previously been the case. Since Scholes and Kellogg
discuss the concept of allegiance in their theories on the
development of narrative art, it would be appropriate to
state that the primary allegiance of the picaresque authors
is really to themselves, to their creativity as writers, and
to maintaining the illusion of reality in their texts.

Such ideas as these go beyond a purely evolutionary

examination of the genre to approach it instead from a

19
literary perspective. Several critics including Claudio
Guillen, Ulrich Wicks, Francisco Rico, Helen Reed and Edward
Friedman, stress its literariness in their studies, and have
contributed substantially to developing a new trend in
picaresque criticism. Although some of the above mentioned
critics do acknowledge the societal, historical and moral
factors that influenced the emergence of the genre, their
primary concern is with the fictional processes of the novels
and narrative strategies involved in producing them. Alonso
Zamora Vicente, reflecting the general feeling of these
"literary" critics, notes the tendency of scholars in the
past to disregard the fact that these novels are fiction and
should be addressed as such:
...se ha venido olvidando demasiado frecuentemente
que la novela picaresca es ante todo novela, es
decir: recreaciOn artistica, voluntaria seleccidn y
parcelacidn de una realidad. El motivo por el que
fue escogido su contenido quiza pueda verse sin mas
en la predileccidn por un mundo que no fuese el
encendidamente libresco de las creaciones
literarias tradicionales. (12)
The literary critics who share this point of view with Zamora
Vicente believe that the key to understanding the genre lies
within the texts themselves. Their focus has shifted away
from an examination of how the novels evolved, which involves
the study of extratextual factors such as history, society
and morality, to explore instead the intricacies of the text
in an effort to explain what the genre does and how it
functions. In essence, they transcend the boundary between

history and fiction to examine the texts from within.

Further discussion of these scholars' invaluable studies will

II.

20
be deferred to the third part of this chapter which will
discuss narrative strategies in the picaresque novel. At
this point it is simply important to emphasize that the
critical approaches to studying the genre have been many and
varied. Although recent critical attention has turned
somewhat away from studying the societal and historical
influences on the evolution of the novels in favour of a
literary approach, the importance of these studies must not
be forgotten or denied as they all contribute to a broader
and more comprehensive understanding of this enigmatic genre.
The Picaros: In Socigtngnd in Literature

As the picaros represent the primary unifying factor of
all of the works to be discussed, an analysis of their role
in the texts would be helpful at this point in order reach a
better understanding of the genre as a whole. One key
misconception that must be dispelled with regard to these
literary characters is that they are a representation in
print of society's picaros of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries in Spain.

Society's picaros emerged as a result of severe economic
strain, moral degradation and lack of hope according to Del
Monte (70). It is important to realize that society's picaros
were not confined to the ranks of the poor, however: "The
picaros sprang from all stations and it would be a serious
error to imagine that vagrancy and dishonesty, swindling and
false pretences were limited to the ranks of the poor or of
the delinquent" (Anatomies 93). The factor which spawned and

unified this new class of people was not only the lack of

21
economic resources, but a collective consciousness regarding
the declining state of affairs in Spain. Alberto del Monte
demonstrates convincingly that a variety of people became
collectivized under the name picaro: "Confluian, en esta
multitud vagabunda, estudiantes que desertaban de las
universidades, burdcratas desempleados, soldados licenciados,

aristdcratas venidos a menos, deudores morosos, comediantes,

jugadores, aventureros, ladrones, asesinos y prostitutas"
(70).

There existed another marginal group of people in Spain,
however, that did not fit into the strict classification of
society's picaros. Del Monte makes a convincing relationship
between this anomalous, marginal group and the emergence of
the literary picaro:

Entre las dos clases, la de la aristocracia y la
del pueblo, habia una gran masa que no habia
conseguido constituirse en clase y que vivia al
margen de la sociedad y de sus leyes, aun sin caer
en la condicidn de picaro. Este estamento
intermedio formaba un estrato amorfo, heterogeneo,
inclasificable, despreciado por la aristocracia,
que despreciaba al pueblo a su vez, y que no
conseguia convertirse en burguesia, confundiendose
muchas veces con el picaro, que no puede
clasificarse en la sociedad y actua contra la
sociedad. Es la multitud de los apicarados, que
son excluidos de la clase dominante y no participan
de sus estructuras ideolOQicas, conscientes de su
‘ilusoriedad', pero impotentes para modificar la
situacidn histérico-humana de su tiempo. La novela
picaresca es una emanaciOn de esta situacién,
construyendo la figura del picaro y fundiendo en
ella las multiples caracteristicas de la sociedad
contemporanea por medio de una criba y de una
hiperbolizacidn literaria a la vez, en oposicidn a
los mitos contemporaneos. (72)

This connection between an amorphous societal group and the

literary picaros clears up a common misconception regarding

22
the evolution of the literary figure by demonstrating that
the literary picaros are neither clones of society's picaros
nor of the marginal figures mentioned above. The image of
the literary personae is rather a hyperbolization and a
fictionalization of an idea or a concept that originated and
was extracted from the essence of this anomalous group of
society's outcasts. Some critics, such as Francisco Rico
believe that the literariness of the picaros transcends and
supersedes any relationship they previously had with society:
"El personaje del picaro es un caracter (picaresco a ratos, a
ratos tal vez no) y el esquema de una vida: esquema que no se
desprende necesariamente de la realidad, sino que deriva de
una afortunada elaboracidn novelesca. Asi, el heroe de la
picaresca es tambien (permitaseme exagerarlo) una forma y una
fermula narratives" (Punto 110). Although in this particular
study the picaros will be studied primarily in terms of their
relationship to literature (and the other personae involved
in the creative process), it is essential to realize that
part of their personalities was forged, not only from
previous texts, but also from an idea that was inferred from
the society of the time. The picaro is a multifarious figure
whose genesis is the culmination of a myriad of sources and
influences both inter and extratextual.

One of the intertextual sources that contributed to the
evolution of the picaros and their genre is the chivalric
romance and its hero. The picaros can be described in part
as the antithesis of this traditional hero, and are in fact

frequently referred to as antiheroes (Castro, "Perspectiva"

23
114). This label is only appropriate, however, when the
picaros are considered in comparison to or in conjunction
with the chivalric heroes of their not too distant past.
When viewed in isolation in the context of the picaresque
genre alone, the picaros are heroes in their own right.

A brief discussion of the characteristics of the
chivalric and the picaresque heroes will serve to establish
from whence the literary picaros emerged. In his modal
approach to describing the heroic protagonist in the
chivalric works, Ulrich Wicks defines the "romance situation"
and its narrative persona as follows: "that of a heroic
protagonist in a world marvelously better than ours in which
he is on a quest that confronts him with challenges, each
ending in a moral victory leading toward a final ordered and
harmonious cosmos" (242). The "picaresque situation” and its
protagonist, on the other hand present: "an unheroic
protagonist, worse than we, caught up in a chaotic world,
worse than ours, in which he is on an eternal journey of
encounters that allow him to be alternately both victim of
that world and its exploiter" (Wicks 242). The primary
contrast which arises from these two situations is that of
the ordered, harmonious world of the chivalric heroes versus
the chaotic, disorderly world of the picaros. These
situations are directly reflected in the personalities of
their respective literary personae. For instance, "the
romance heroes come across to the reader, therefore, as
persons ultimately defined and integral” (Miller 81), whereas

the picaro: "In his protean guises...becomes radically

24
undefined...ln his protean changes, the picaro again reveals
that the world is in chaos" (Miller 70-1). Therefore, the
difference between the chivalric and the picaresque heroes
lies in their particular fictional situations and in the very
fabric of the texts in which they exist.

The chivalric heroes, as Miller mentions, appear
complete before the story begins. Their roles in the text,
therefore, are not multidimensional. They are introduced as
whole characters whose roles consist of acting out adventures
according to their authors' cues. The creative process is in
many respects over before the story begins. The chivalric
heroes exist above and beyond the squalor of day to day
existence in an unreal world where their impossible feats of
bravery are made possible by the very unreality of their
fictional situation. They are generally extroverted and
highly confident characters who combat adversity in their
continued quest for the preservation of the moral good in
spite of incredible (and unbelievable) odds. For instance,
César Barja describes Amadis de Gaula as a model of
perfection: "...la encarnacidn del ideal caballeresco: el
valor sobrehumano; el amor como movil supremo de la accidn;
la fidelidad a la mujer amada; la lealtad, la hidalguia, la
galanteria...Basta decir que de todas esas aventuras sale
Amadis bien librado y victorioso" (119, 121). Although
confronted with danger within the fictional setting, the
outcome of the chivalric hero's adventures is almost always
positive, pointing to the fact that the author is sympathetic

to his character and ultimately makes it possible for him to

25
succeed. The author's relationship with his fictional hero
cannot be considered an antagonistic one, because the latter
is never placed in a position whereby his fictional existence
is jeopardized (the same thing cannot be said of the
relationship between the picaros and their authors). The
chivalresque heroes live in a aura of fictional security,
protected by an author who wishes them continued success in
their endeavours. These characters, because of their
excessive perfection, lack psychological depth and ultimately
act like fictional puppets controlled by a subversive author
who has planned their fate from the beginning.

The picaresque heroes, on the other hand, are
psychologically complex characters who live on the margins of
the text, somewhere between fiction and reality. They
experience a sense of "internal anarchy" (Miller 86) which
was not present in the literary personae that preceded them.
Whereas the chivalric heroes are accepted by the fictional
societies in which they exist, most picaros exist on the
margins of their fictional societies and are acutely aware of
their alienated and isolated position. The literary picaros
are a new and unique breed of character in literature who
present the reader with a different picture of a hero who is
complex, enigmatic and challenging and who lives in a
fictional setting which closely resembles the reader's own
perception of reality.

The picaros' roles are further complicated by their
intimate involvement in the creative process itself. Due to

the apparent absence of an author in most of the novels, the

26
picaros are led to believe that they are in narrative control
of the texts in which they exist. They are generally neither
protected nor guided by their authors and are therefore left
to self-create and to fight for their fictional survival.
The picaros' position, unlike that of the chivalric heroes,
is precarious and unstable. They are not shielded from
society or from the various elements of the text, but are
instead forced to survive by their "guile and wile"
(Anatomies 386). Many picaros, at least from their own
individual perspective, are self-creating and self-made
characters and they are placed in a position of textual
authority which was not granted the chivalric heroes who
preceded them in text.

Having established some basic differences between the
chivalric and picaresque heroes, it may now be helpful to
further explore the personality of the literary picaros and
their role within the novels. Arriving at a complete
definition of these characters is near to impossible due to
their protean and multifarious nature. They are consistently
changing and moving, moulding themselves to new situations
and challenges in their individual fictional situations. Not
unlike chameleons, they change and blend to adapt to their
environment: "He assumes whatever appearance the world forces
on him, and this a-personality is typical of the picaresque
world, in which appearance and reality constantly mingle,
making definition and order disappear. In the end, the
character of the picaro may sometimes disappear entirely

behind a mask" (Miller 70). Although the task of defining

27
the picaros is complex due to their elusiveness, some basic
generalizations can be made about their personalities. A
summary of the most important traits that the majority of
picaros have in common is provided in Wicks's definition of
the character:
The protagonist as picaro, that is, a pragmatic,
unprincipled, resilient, solitary figure who just
manages to survive in his chaotic landscape, but
who, in the ups and downs, can also put that world
very much on the defensive. The picaro is a
protean figure who cannot only serve many masters
but play different roles, and his essential
characteristic is his inconstancy...his own
personality flux in the face of an inconstant
world. ("Modal" 245)
This description of the picaro is very apt in that it hints
at how the inconstancy and fluidity of the character are
representative of the genre as a whole, itself inconstant and
fluid.

One characteristic that can be applied to most of the
central picaros (Lazaro, Guzman, Justina and Pablos), as
Wicks has noted above, is their solitary nature. In the
picaresque novels, there is usually only one true picaro who
distinguishes him or herself from the other pseudo-picaros
(or rogues) in part through his / her solitary, marginal
position in the text. As Guillen has pointed out, these
picaros can be described as half-outsiders ("Toward" 80). In
some instances assimilation is denied them by society, but in
other cases the picaros alienate themselves through their
need to be free or to improve their lot in life (Lazarillo,

Guzman, Justina and Pablos are all examples). Had the

picaros' solitary and alienated position been an entirely

28

coerced one, the reader would expect their attitude toward
life to be more pessimistic, bitter and skeptical, but it is
not. In spite of the adversity confronting them, the picaros
on the whole remain basically optimistic. Robert Alter
points out this apparent obliviousness of the character in
the following comparison between the existential hero and the
picaro: "...the picaroon, unlike the existentialist hero, is
no philosophical prober: it never occurs to him to question
the larger order of things" (5). The reactions of the
picaros to adversity are "peculiarly nonproblematic" (4),
which leads Miller to conclude that: ”...his lack of settled
integrity is revealed most clearly in the instability of his
resolves...he is simply unable to keep to a set course. He
constantly lets go of the outer stability he finds because he
is internally unstable" (86). The apparent unawareness of
the picaros as to the seriousness and squalor of their
existence sets them apart as detached, solitary figures.
There are two dimensions to this solitude. First, the
picaros are marginal figures who are partially segregated
from society, and secondly, they are alone in their unique
mental orientation which allows them to become somewhat
detached from the adversity confronting them. In other
words, the picaresque heroes are half-outsiders, but they are
not deterred from living as free spirits in spite of the odds
against them. This mental resolve is what Alter describes as
"an image of human solidarity in the world” (10).

This sense of solidarity is only feasible from the point

of view of the picaros themselves, however, who believe that

29
their existence is positive, productive and successful. From
outside of the text the reader is not convinced that the
picaros are truly achieving the goals of their solidarity:
freedom and tranquility (Anatomies 389). When referring to
Lazaro's perception of his existence, Alter points out that
"Lézaro himself does not appear to be conscious of anything
contradictory in what he has said" (6). Although the
picaresque novels introduce characters who are
psychologically complex, the picaros, through the
inconsistencies and contradictions in their speech and in
their behaviour, are obviously subjected to some sort of
narrative constraints. These constraints are what the reader
has to identify in order to better understand the enigmatic
personae that the picaros are. They are given the power to
tell (and even write) their own stories, but those stories
are constantly being reviewed and edited without their
knowledge by a more powerful textual presence. Therefore,
the apparent solidarity of the picaros is deceptive. They
remain unaware of their precarious position on the margins of
the text as they innocently continue to believe in their
control over the reproductions of their life stories in
print. This unshakable belief in their textual authority
allows the picaros to exist, unaware that they are purely
fictional entities. Therefore, the picaresque heroes may
represent solidarity within their own limited vision of the
world, but once they are seen from outside the text, their
solidarity is tainted by an author who skilfully controls his

creations from within their discourse as we shall shortly

30
see.

Much of the illusion of control is established by way of
the pseudo-autobiographical approach to the picaresque
novels. Although not all of the works are narrated in first
person by the picaros, it is an essential narrative tool in
the primary texts: Lazarillo dg Tormgg, Guzmén dg Alfarache,
La picara Justina and El 8u§COn. Guillen explains the
concept as follows:

The picaresque novel is a pseudoautobiography.
This use of the first-person tense is more than a
formal frame. It means that not only are the hero
and his actions picaresque, but everything else in
the story is colored with the sensibility, or
filtered through the mind, of the picaro-narrator.
Both the hero and the principal point of view are
picaresque. Hence the particular consistency and
self-saturation of the style. Life is at the same
time revived and judged, presented and remembered.
("Toward" 81)
The author therefore gives his character the illusion of free
speech. The picaros, innocently unaware of their
fictionality and of the authorial force that controls them,
proceed with the master plan, thus further heightening the
illusion of reality. The picaros' involvement in, and yet
distance from, the creative process provides us with an early
glimpse of metafictional characters in the making.

A concise definition of what a metafictional character
is and does is provided by David Herzberger in an interesting
article on self and split-referential characters in
contemporary Spanish fiction. He defines metafictional
characters as:

...those who are explicitly aware of their own

fictionality, as well as those who are created by
narrators insistent on revealing the fictionality

31
of the entire narrative enterprise. In both cases
the literariness of character is directly conveyed
to the reader so that the illusion of reality is
broken, but in the second instance the characters
themselves may remain ignorant of their fictional
status. (423)
The picaros belong to the second of these two categories.

The only difference is that the attempt to display the

fictionality of the narrative is not controlled by the

narrator in the primary picaresque works, but by an illusive
authorial voice that weaves its way into the discourse of the
picaresque narrators. The picaros themselves remain unaware
of this intrusion and of the fact that they are fictional
beings.

The picaros are more than just metafictional characters,
however. There remains the problem of the illusion of
reality in the texts. The reader is in effect confronted
with two antithetical forces: the realization of the
literariness of the picaros and the belief that the
characters are forged from real life, possessing qualities of
flesh and blood people. This illusion is what helps to lure
the reader into the text: ”The novel is the construction of a
fictitious world so seductive that it acts upon the reader
like a reality" (Anatomies 18). Herzberger finds the
fiction-reality duality that is elicited by certain
characters in literature to be a disturbing one and one that
cannot be explained simply by calling them metafictional
characters due to the fact that the latter are purely
literary entities that cannot extend themselves beyond the

fictional realm. In order to clarify and reconcile the

32
paradox (fiction-reality) that cannot be sufficiently
explained by using the term metafictional characters,
Herzberger creates a new literary term, split-referentiality,
the genesis of which and its meaning he describes as follows:

It appears, then, that we wish to have it both
ways: on the one hand, we evoke the self-
referentiality of the text and affirm the purely
linguistic material of which characters are made,
while on the other, we attribute to these
characters the same body of traits and dilemmas
generally associated with the characters of
realistic tradition. We identify the technical
process of metafiction through which narrative
invents itself as something other than the real
world, but then proceed to perceive characters as
if they embody life in its full range of
existential possibilities. What is most important
here is not the apparent contradiction of the
procedures that we use to engender meaning, but the
absence of any attempt on our part to reconcile the
opposing propositions. The way in which characters
are bound to a symbolic system (the text) but still
able to generate life-like qualities would seem to
undermine the terms of our critical scheme...Rather
than continue to speak of self-referential texts
and characters which push us always towards the
intrinsic, I propose that we begin to discuss the
notion of "split”-referential texts and characters,
an idea which represents more accurately the way in
which metafiction works. (423)

The picaros can be defined in terms of split-referentiality
considering that they are, on the one hand, literary tools
used to explain a literary system and on the other hand
remind the reader of real people with whom we can identify
and feel sympathy for. As Miller observes: "If the image of
life portrayed in the picaresque novel is literally far
removed from the reader's life, it is not so removed
metaphorically...lf we are internally less chaotic than the
picaro, it is a difference in degree, not in kind" (99).

Another dimension of the problematic nature of the

III.

33

picaros, as has already been noted, is their inconstancy, a
characteristic which is pertinent to the narrative duality
mentioned above. The picaros are constantly adapting to new
situations and are never still. Their perpetual movement and
evolution reflects an integral component of their split-
referentiality. Herzberger explains that change is an
essential trait of the self-referential character who finds
himself in a continual state of becoming: "The realistic
tradition of characters ‘given' to the reader as finished
product is displaced by the continual repositioning of the
metafictional character as a becoming (or process) at the
same moment that the text reveals its own process of
becoming" (431). If we can apply this quote to the
picaresque heroes, then it is clear that the picaros reflect
much more than solitary individuals in a hostile society,
they are also literary tools created to teach us something
about the process of writing fiction. As we will see in the
following section, the picaros, in their process of becoming,
are reflective of their genre as a whole, itself ever
changing and indeterminate.
The Picaresgue Ngxgl: A Study of Narrative Strategies

Traditionally critics have attempted to formulate
definitions of the picaresque. The result of such
scholarship has been the identification of factors that are
common to all picaresque texts and the formulation of
generalizations about the genre as a whole. It has not,
however, produced a definitive definition of the picaresque

novel or of the picaro. The studies of Claudio Guillen and

34
Ulrich Wicks provide us with important outlines of common
elements in the various picaresque novels but they also
acknowledge the unlikeliness of achieving an all-encompassing
definition of the genre: "The definition itself, like every
critical act, is merely a limited perspective" ("Toward” 74).
This important realization has helped to usher in a new trend
in picaresque criticism which examines the texts from the
point of view of narrative strategies. In other words, it
builds upon traditional definitions and then goes beyond them
to explore the process by which the texts were created, and
also to concentrate not on what the picaresque novel is, but
on what it does and how it does it.

With the advent of the picaresque novel, the process of
writing text became as important as, if not more important
than, the resultant fictional product. This idea has been
presented by Edward Friedman who defines his own study of the
picaresque genre as a deconstructive approach because, like
the genre, it "presupposes a rhetorical component at every
stage of the creative process and in the social processes
reflected through art" (Antiheroine xvii). This type of
examination of the primary picaresque novels is enlightening
as it examines the internal narrative strategies of the texts
and looks at the creative process itself as a possible
meaning.

One of the most significant and innovative narrative
strategies used by the picaresque authors is the
incorporation of a myriad of narrative voices in their works.

The majority of literature prior to the picaresque novels was

35
generally non conflictive with regard to the relationships
that existed between narrators, authors and readers. In
other words, the authority of the author was rarely
challenged, the narrators were seldom intimately involved in
the process of textual composition, and the reader was
generally a passive recipient. In the picaresque novels on
the other hand, these relationships become complex and
problematic. The narrators are not reliable, and the role of
the author and the reader are complicated by the presence of
their fictional counterparts in the texts. Helen Reed
explains the evolution of these fictional personae as
follows:
Both the author and the reader assume roles and
evolve personae in the text which may be
distinguished from their existence outside the
text... To distinguish these personae from the real
author and real reader(s), one may refer to the
author-in-the text or implied author, and the
reader-in-the-text or implied or hypothetical
reader. (14)
These narrative voices are usually silent or implied and can
only truly be identified through the reading process.
Therefore, the role of the real reader also changes and a
complex system of communication is established between forces
within the text and factors outside of it. In essence, the
picaresque novel becomes a dialectical process that is never
static.
Since each of the narrative voices, inside and outside
of the text, is important to the process as a whole, it would

be useful to examine their functions within the novels

individually. Beginning with the role of the implied

36

author,‘ we must return briefly to our discussion of the
illusion of authorial control in the picaresque novels. As
we have already noted, in the primary picaresque novels, the
picaros appear to be in control of the storytelling process.
Their tales, however, are filtered through an invisible
presence which can be identified as the implied author.
Friedman defines this intrusive persona as: "a presence in
narrative fiction who affects the production of meaning,
often subverting in some way the direction of textual
discourse" (Antiheroine 16). This voice, because of its
implied and not tangible presence in the text, is often
difficult to identify. One way of isolating it, however, is
to realize the "discrepancies between the narrator's
revelations and the protagonist's best interests"
(Antiheroine 16). For instance, inconsistencies in the texts
and contradicitons in the picaros' speech and behaviour may
be blatant markers of the intrusion of the implied authorial
voice. The creation of this persona is a narrative tool
which complicates and alters the narrator's discourse from
within. The real authors are the physical beings who exist
outside of the text, constricted by the limitations of the
real world, but their implied counterparts in the text have
the power to manipulate and control the narrative from
within. Because the implied author is not a concrete entity,
its essence can never be isolated, it can only be surmised
through the reading process.

The real authors purposely distance themselves from

their texts and place the illusion of authorial control in

37
the hands of an innocent picaro. The picaros, as we have
already established, may truly believe that they are in
control of their texts. The intrusive presence of the
implied author, however, manipulates the picaros' narrative
from within, continually keeping them in check. Considering
this illusive presence in the text, it is interesting to
reexamine the definition of the literary picaros as solitary
beings who live on the margins of society and the text. The
hostile environment to which they are exposed can now be
expanded to include not only a society that will not allow
them to ascend, but also a group of voices within the text
which manipulate their stories and threaten their existences
as fictional beings. The picaros, unaware of their
fictionality and permanently deceived by these latent forces,
are in effect victims and products of dialectical
manipulation.

The relationship between the picaros and the implied
author is complex, and it is ultimately up to the real reader
to decide who is in control of the text. With the emergence
of the picaresque novels the role of the reader necessarily
changes from that of a passive observer to an active
participant. Readers are confronted with a myriad of
narrative voices, all of which have to be identified and
examined in order to reach a conclusion about the text. In
addition, the position of the reader is complicated and
enhanced by another imposed narrative voice, that of the
implied (or hypothetical) reader. This narrative entity is a

device created by the real author in order to draw the real

3B
reader into the text. Helen Reed explains the concept of the
hypothetical reader as follows:
The author will have projected his idea of a
hypothetical reader in the text itself, but this
image may be muddied by his inability to predict or
impose uniformity on the composition of his
readership, actual and potential. The character of
the reader-in-the-text, therefore, is often one of

the most ambiguous, nebulous, multiple, or even
inconsistent of the author's creations. (14)

The reader-in-the-text can take the shape of a fictional
character such as vuestra merced, or may be applied to a
general group of readers such as the vglgg, curioso or the
bio lgctor. Whatever the case may be, this ambiguous
'narrative persona does affect the manner in which the real
reader processes the information provided by the text. As
Reed has noted, however, the reaction of the reader may not
be that which the author had hoped for.

It is difficult to predict whether the readers of the
picaresque novels in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
were satisfied with associating themselves with one of the
authors' hypothetical readers, or if they challenged the
authors' preconceived notions of their role in the text. It
is most likely that they were still relatively passive in
their textual participation, as their new found ability to
participate actively in the text alone must have been, for
some, quite a departure from their previous, passive roles as
readers. The implied reader was probably seen as a guide by
the majority of real readers who were not completely familiar
with how to involve themselves in the complex creative

process. Today, critical readers are expected to read

39
between the lines and search for hidden sub-textual meanings.
It is only by looking beyond the written word that we can
understand the potentially deceptive nature of the implied
readers who are really narrative tools used by the author to
manipulate the real reader's response to the picaro and the
text. This authorial plan of deception is somewhat

undermined, however, by current literary beliefs that all

readers read distinctly from one another and that there can
never be a definitive meaning to a text. As Reed notes:
"interpretations of a work may vary considerably from one
historical period to another, and the author's message may
not be decoded as he thought it would be" (17).

It is important to realize at this point that the
author, who is supposedly the master controller of the text,
may not be as omnipotent as he perhaps thought himself to be
at the time of composition. If this is true and the author
does not have complete control, then who or what does? It
would appear that the very narrative strategies created by
the authors to establish and fortify their control over the
texts and the readers are the things that ultimately
undermine their authority. By creating fictional
counterparts for the real reader and the real author in the
text itself, the real authors distance themselves from the
works thus exposing the literary framework on which that text
is constructed. As Reed explains: "In all cases we are
dealing with a series of narrative techniques through which
the real author communicates his fiction to his audience, a

scaffolding on which the artifice of fiction rests" (16).

40
Every level of the structure "presupposes a rhetorical
component" (Friedman, Antihgroing xvii), and the literariness
of the novel becomes one of its primary defining factors.
The framework only becomes dynamic, however, through the
dialectical exchanges between narrative voices inside and
outside of the text.

In conclusion, throughout this introductory chapter, I
have attempted to study the picaresque genre from a variety
of different perspectives. Although this dissertation takes
a literary approach to the novels examining them by way of
narrative strategies, it is not without the recognition that
every approach is important to an overall understanding of
the genre. All studies are valuable, but none is definitive.
Scholars can only hope to supplement a body of information
with new ideas, always remembering that literature is not a
static entity, but a dialectical, cumulative and intertextual
process that is constantly changing and expanding. Reed
describes the interpretative process aptly as "less an
autopsy to be performed than a choreography to be annotated"
(16). The following study on silence and subversion in four
Spanish picaresque novels of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries is just another contribution to an ever growing
body of critical works which have been written in the hopes
of unlocking the mystery of this enigmatic genre which will

ultimately defy revelation.

41

Notes

1Among the critics who present a relationship between
the emergence of the picaresque novel and historical and
societal influences are: Jose Antonio Maravall, La literatgra

picaresca desde la historia social (Madrid: Taurus, 1987),

Alberto del Monte, Itinerario de la novela picaresca esgafiola
(Barcelona: Editorial Lumen, 1971) and Alan Francis,

PicarescaI decadenciéihistoria (Madrid: Editorial Gredos,
1978) and Maurice Molho, Introduccion a1 pensamiento
picaresco (Salamanca: Ediciones Anaya, 1972).

2Maravall explains the "crisis" as follows: "Pero ante
los amenazadores trastornos que el dinero provoca en la
sociedad barroca -y los llamo amenazadores, ateniendome a la
conciencia de la epoca-, cuenta no so1o esa presencia de las
diferentes formas dinerarias que se difunden, sino el hondo
drama, 0 mas todavia, la mortal angustia que las précticas
abusivas seguidas en politica monetaria por la Monarquia
espafiola, ocasionaron, difundiendo desordenada zozobra en la
sociedad sobre la que aquella pesaba, haciéndola conocer en
mas de una ocasidn situaciones préximas a1 colapso econdmico.
Esto constituia ya de suyo una crisis suficiente para que se
sintiera afectada toda la poblacidn y, por tanto, con mayor
temor las clases pobres. Ya ello seria bastante para que
surgiera una literatura de la cirsis de caracteres mucho mas
acusados, mas esperpénticamente deformados, que en otros
paises del XVII, en los que se dio con menos dureza y no tan
larga duracibn. Me refiero, al decir esto, mas a las
consecuencias sociales que a las estrictamente econémicas.
Por eso prefiero llamarla...‘crisis social'" (130).

'3Antonio Dominguez Ortiz explains the revolt of the
Comuneros and its impact on Spain in the early years of
Carlos V's reign and on the gradual disappearance of the then
budding bougeoisie in his 12g Golden Aog of Spain: 1516-1659
(New York: Basic Books Inc., 1971) 135-6.

“Ortiz outlines the reasons for the massive decrease in
Spain's population (135, 138).

°Several critics (Molho, Ortiz, Maravall) have commented
on the apparent non-existence or anonymity of the middle
class in Spain during this period. For instance, Ortiz
observes that: “One part of the middle class had been
assimilated by the upper class, had set up entails, arranged
profitable marriages and invested its money in fixed rents.
The rest, in the attempt to do the same...fell into the
depths of poverty" (140). Also, Maravall explains how the
population essentially was divided between the rich and the
poor in a segment of his book entitled: “La polarizacidn

42

ricos-pobres. Transformaciones de la estructura social y
distanciamiento creciente entre sus extremos" (139-51).

°Fernando Lazaro Carreter argues against Parker's
narrow, religious, ideological and personal approach to the
genre in his "Glosas criticas a ‘Los picaros en la
literatura' de Alexander A. Parker," Hispanic Review 41.3
(1973): 474-5.

7Scholes and Kellogg define the "mimetic component" as
owing "its allegiance not to truth of fact but to truth of
sensation and environment, depending on observation of the
present rather than investigation of the past. It requires
for its development sociological and psychological concepts
of behavior and mental process..." (13).

8For a broad and more comprehensive definition of the
implied author and its function in literature see also Wayne
C. Booth's Rhetoric of Fiction, Second Edition (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1983) especially 73-7.

Chapter Two

Defining Silence

Although silence generally evokes a sense of emptiness
and absence, it can also elicit positive connotations as a
potentially powerful communicative device. It is only
recently that critics have begun to recognize the creative
and aesthetic possibilities of silence in text and speech,
however. The purpose of this chapter is to examine silence
from a variety of different perspectives in an attempt to
establish its importance as a positive dialectical component
in both written and spoken discourse. Considering its all
pervading presence in language, relatively few studies have
been written on this topic. It would therefore be helpful to
begin by examining the evolution of critical approaches to
studying silence which have included analyses of its
relationship to religion, philosophy and more recently to
literature. It is by way of these studies that we will be
able to establish that silence, in its many and varied
guises, can communicate information as readily as, and
sometimes more completely than, words can. After
demonstrating the importance of silence in life and in art,
the focus of the chapter will turn to a specific and indepth
discussion of the various types of silence in prose fiction
generally and how they can be applied specifically to a study
of the picaresque novels. Its use as a self-conscious

narrative device will be examined as will its impact on the

43

44
reader and its effect on the dialectic that exists between
the latter and all of the other narrative voices in the text.
As we shall see, in the picaresque novels silence is
manipulated by these personae to achieve specific narrative
ends. This study does not purport to explain what silence
says, but to examine how it can purposely be used by the
various literary personae in order to manipulate a text and
the reader's perception of that text.

Silence has not always been considered in terms of its
aesthetic potential. In fact, this idea is a relatively new
one in terms of its application to literature.
Traditionally, the only tie between silence and the literary
text was specifically related to the Bible, and therefore
also to prayer and man's relationship with God. As Max
Picard notes:

'In prayer the word comes again of itself into
silence. It is from the very outset in the sphere
of silence...In prayer the word rises from
silence...the region of the lower, human silence
comes into relation with the higher silence of God;
the lower rests in the higher. In prayer the word
and therefore man is in the centre between two
regions of silence. (230-1)
Silence is the medium in which a mystical union may be
achieved, and it is also the medium in which we generally
consider God, who Himself represents a duality of silence in
that He is present and yet absent in our lives. In a
collection of essays assembled in SilenceI the Word and the
Sacred, several of the authors address the relationship

between silence and God and the inherent mysteries and gaps

in the Bible. This assemblage of studies is not only

45
important with regard to the relationship between theology
and silence, but it also demonstrates that silence has been
an important factor in written text for centuries. The
silences in the Bible connote mystery, and mystery is in turn
what brings the Bible to life. Ronald Bond attests to the
fact that the biblical account "derives its shape" (171) from
these very mysteries and inconsistencies. Bond's approach to
silence and the sacred word focuses on the predominance of
silence in the "mainstream theological tradition of Western
Christianity" (170). As his point of reference he uses the
writings of Saint Augustine in which he identifies two
different ways of considering the connection between the Word
and silence: “The first is that God himself is all silence,
his ‘silent voice' immanent in creation, the world of things
to which human speech refers. The second is that human
utterances about the sacred are essentially futile verbal
gestures, stop-gaps which fill the silence that real
deference to the hidden God might be thought to require"
(172-3). It is clear that without silence in religion the
mystery of the scriptures and of God would not be such a
powerful force in our lives. Man is silent before God, and
God is silent before man and yet a dialectic exists between
them. As Dauenhauer notes: "...silence is the mutual
understanding between the Deity and the individual" (113).
The Bible is really the first literary text in which silence,
through symbols, metaphors and the unsaid, helps to
communicate words and ultimately, the Word. Silence in

religion evokes a sense of awe, mystery and ineffability.

«t.»

.5

At.—

46
Its scope is infinite and its very indefinability is what
gives it meaning.
In his study Silence: The Phenomenon and its Ontological
Significance, Dauenhauer addresses a different and more
‘specific aspect of silence which focuses on its inherent

presence in the spoken word. He points out that without

silence, "all words would be one jabbering mess“ (7).
Therefore, silence is always present in discourse and its
presence is what makes language intelligible. He identifies
three types of silence in speech that will briefly be
discussed. First there is intervening silence which "is that
occurrence or sequence of occurrences of silence which
punctuates both the words and phrases of a spoken sentence
and string of sentences which fit together within discourse"
(6). Secondly, there are fore and after silences which
represent the "fringe of silence that surrounds
utterance...After silence is the more striking of the
fringing silences. It terminates an utterance. Expressive
force is given to the utterance through after silence" (9-
10). Finally there is deep silence which is conspicuous
because of its absence in speech and text. The first two
definitions here appear so obvious that they are usually
taken for granted by speakers and readers, but their presence
is an essential component of language. Without the stops and
gaps in sentence structure, language would immediately be
rendered incomprehensible. It is important to remember,
however, that this is also true of silence. Without the

letters and words, silence too would be obsolete. It is

47
clear then that there is no such thing as absolute language
or absolute silence: "Complete speech and complete silence
are inaccessible and not achievable to men” (Dauenhauer 106).
Silence and speech are mutually dependent on one another for
meaning. Dauenhauer's study aptly demonstrates the complex
and positive nature of silence which, when used in
conjunction with speech, can communicate meaningful messages
to a reader.

A broader study that addresses the all encompassing
nature of silence is Max Picard's Ige World of Silegee.
Picard's discussion is intriguing as it realizes the
awesomeness of the topic. In an attempt to examine silence
from as many different perspectives as possible he cannot
help but contradict himself at times. These contradictions,
however, are integral elements of silence due to the fact
that it is not a subject that can be understood in its
entirety. When examined in absolute terms, it is impossible
to define. Picard's book is extremely important as it is one
of the first to recognize the impact that silence has on
every level of man's life, both physical and spiritual. He
begins his study by stating that "silence is nothing merely
negative; it is not the mere absence of speech. It is a
positive, a complete world in itself" (17). Later on,
however, he discusses the absolute uselessness of silence:
"Silence is the only phenomenon today that is ‘useless'. It
does not fit into the world of profit and utility; it simply
is. It seems to have no other purpose...It is

‘unproductive'. Therefore it is regarded as useless" (18-9).

48

He also considers silence in terms of religious devotion and
man's relationship to God, but at the same time he associates
it with evil: "In silence there is present not only the power
of healing and friendship but also the power of darkness and
terror, that which can erupt from the underground of silence,
the power of death and evil" (49). With regard to the use of
silence in language Picard notes the dependence of speech on
silence and vice versa, but then states that silence is an
absolute entity: ”Silence is an autonomous phenomenon...it
is...an independent whole, subsisting in and through itself.
It is creative, as language is creative” (15). How can
silence be creative and yet useless, positive and yet
negative, present and yet absent? The answer is that without
a clear definition and explanation of what is meant by
silence at any particular moment, it becomes an
uncontrollable, ambiguous mass that is inherently full of
contradictions. Silence must be contextualized and specified
in order for it to have communicative potential. Again, it
is important to realize that the apparent contradictions that
silence connotes are an inherent part of the absolute
phenomenon which itself implies an infinite number of
possibilities for interpretation. It is also these
contradictions that make silence such an intriguing subject
of discussion.

In two more recent studies on silence, Susan Sontag's

"The Aesthetics of Silence” and George Steiner's Language and

Silence: Essays on LanguageI Literature and the Inhuman, the

 

topic is discussed in very specific terms with regard to its

49

impact on art. The emphasis is on the modern artist’s
ambivalence to, and renunciation of, the written or spoken
word in favour of silence. Steiner states that: "...the
retreat from the authority and range of verbal language plays
a tremendous role in the history and character of modern art"
(21-2). This "chosen silence" (Steiner 47) or retreat from
the word, does not end in silence, however. In much the same
way that speech can evoke silence, silence in turn evokes
speech. Therefore, when the modern artist opts for silence
over words, he is still searching for speech within silence.
In order to express the hidden meanings of silence, one must
necessarily revert to the word. Therefore, silence has a
language of its own, but that silence can only be
communicated through speech: "As language points to its own
transcendence in silence, silence points to its own
transcendence--to a speech beyond silence" (Sontag 18). The
relationship between silence and speech is not only one of
mutual dependence, but is also cyclical in nature. Silence
will always return to the word and the word will always
return to silence 9g infinitum. Although, as Sontag has
noted: "...as the prestige of language falls, that of silence
rises" (21), ultimately the prestige of language will return
as using speech is the only means by which to explain the
silence that initially replaced it.

Another scholar who also considers silence in terms of
the renunciation of the word is John Cage. Although he is
primarily associated with the study of music, his collection

of articles and lectures entitled Silence and his book Emgtx

50
Words address music, dance, art, poetry and the effects of
silence on the listener, observer or reader. As Janet Perez
notes, Cage writes about: "atonal music and music without
harmony, counterpoint or meter, and paintings consisting of
an empty, all-white, or all-black canvas" (113). The purpose

of these artistic games is to demonstrate discontinuity and

also to suggest that meaninglessness can itself become a
meaning. Although the main idea is to defer attention away
from a specific intelligible meaning instead to focus on the
"raw materials (the sound itself, or the canvas, paper,
etc.)” (Perez 114), these raw materials still elicit a
response from the observer or the listener. Therefore,
discontinuity and silence will still ultimately be defined in
terms of continuity and language. Perez discusses the
communicability of John Cage's radical silences as follows:
Clearly, this is a radical form of silence, silence
used deliberately for aesthetic effect, but instead
of communicating a fairly specific and re-statable
message, its intent is exactly the opposite. Here
art uses total or unlimited silence, silence
without the clues or other associated elements with
which it is surrounded or combined and which permit
it to communicate something quite specific. (114)
This is a clear example of how silence can visibly and
audibly be considered in terms of emptiness and yet still be
a creative and communicative force.
Although Cage's ideas on unlimited silence appear
somewhat extreme, they are representative of the direction
that some forms of modern art have taken with regard to the

renunciation of the word or form in favour of other means of

creative expression. Examples include a poem comprised of a

51
completely blank sheet of paper, texts in which there is no
punctuation or where the reader is expected to read a page
backwards or to skip every other line in order to understand
what has been written. These are extreme examples in which
silence and absence can be used to elicit a response from the
reader. In such instances, the artist may revert to silence
because of a realization that it can sometimes convey a more
powerful message than words alone.

When art is taken to the extreme to which it is
subjected by Cage in Silence, the reader is left with an
overwhelming and unsettling feeling of frustration. For
instance, in the "Lectures on Nothing" the repetition of the
following sentences becomes almost unbearable to the reader:

What we require is silence; but what silence
requires is that I go on talking...Slowly, as the
talk goes on, slowly, we have the feeling we are
getting nowhere...Here we are now at the beginning
of the third unit of the fourth large part of this
talk. More and more I have the feeling that we are
getting nowhere. Slowly, as the talk goes on, we
are getting nowhere and that is a pleasure...Here we
are now, a little bit after the beginning of the
third unit of the fourth large part of this talk.
More and more we have the feeling that I am getting
nowhere. Slowly, as the talk goes on, slowly, we
have the feeling we are getting nowhere. (109, 119)

Describing a specific portion of one of his lectures Cage
himself gives an example of a woman's reaction to the
purposely repetitive, pedantic monotony of one of his
speeches:

One of the structural divisions was the repetition,
some fourteen times, of a single page in which
occurred the refrain, ‘If anyone is sleepy let him
go to sleep.‘ Jeanne Reynal, I remember, stood up
part way through, screamed, and then said, while I
continued speaking, ‘John, I dearly love you, but I
can't bear another minute.’ She then walked out.

52

(ix)
The irritating nature of the talk, however, did manage to
elicit a response from this woman. The topic here is
nothingness and in order to accurately communicate
nothingness, speech must be used otherwise; "nothingness”
would remain obsolete. The unintelligibility and pedantic
repetition of the words presents itself as the most effective
way that the author could symbolically communicate the topic
at hand to his audience, and it is clear from the woman's
reaction that the technique was successful. It is
interesting to note the effectiveness of the repetition of
certain words in order to slow down the talk, and perhaps to
audibly portray a fading away into nothingness. The words
"sleep,” "silence" and "slowly" effectively slow the pace
down. Cage aptly demonstrates how the topic of silence and
its use in text can greatly alter the tempo and the mood of a
work and also affect a reader's response to it.

As we have already stated, John Cage's primary artistic
affiliation is with music, and the relationship between music
and silence is a very important one. Music is the art in
which the necessity of silence is most apparent. The rests
after musical notes are essential in order for a composition
to be aesthetically appealing to the listener. Picard
emphasizes the importance of silence in music by saying: "The
sound of music is not, like the sound of words, opposed, but
rather parallel to silence...Music is silence, which in
dreaming begins to sound. Silence is never more audible than

when the last sound of music has died away" (27). Silence in

53
music is more perceptible than it is in everyday speech and
in other art forms. However, if silence is able to
communicate aesthetically through this particular art form,
then it must also have the potential for aesthetic value in
other artistic forms such as poetry, drama and prose,
although its presence in and upon these forms may not be as
readily apparent and recognizable as it is in music. In
these other art forms it is up to the spectator or the reader
to bring the aesthetic value of silence to light, something
that we will attempt to do presently.
The relationship between silence and poetry has
traditionally been acknowledged by scholars because: "Poetry
comes out of silence and yearns for silence...Great poetry is
a mosaic inlaid into silence" (Picard 145). When poetry is
spoken out loud the pauses at the end of the lines, between
words and stanzas are essential for the piece to achieve the
desired aesthetic response in the listener. In this respect
it is in many ways similar to music. A deeper kind of
silence expressed through poetry is achieved when:
The great poet does not completely fill out the
space of his theme with his words. He leaves a
space clear, into which another and higher poet can
speak. He allows another to take part in the
subject; he makes the subject his own but does not
keep it entirely for himself. Such poetry is
therefore not rigid and fixed but has a hovering
quality ready at any moment to belong to another.
(Picard 145)

The point of this quote is to demonstrate the ability of

poets to express ample connotations through the use of a few

carefully chosen words. Allusion, allegory, symbolism,

imagery and repetition are some of the techniques that can be

54
used to both economize on words and yet to communicate
aesthetically complete thoughts. One only has to consider a
poem such as San Juan de la Cruz's "Noche oscura del alma” to
understand the wealth of connotations that can be elicited by
relatively few words.

In John Cage's Empty Worge a different approach is taken
to poetry. In fact, what he writes may not even be
considered poetry by some. Instead of choosing economical,
brimming words, he saturates his writing with unintelligible
jibberish. At times he posits one intelligible word amidst a
group of disjointed letters, and other times he does not use
words (as we understand them) at all. An example of this
kind of writing is:

v earture woodMiles ng Rus New
Un bark spoons
grassout fi - ants well
A bler all mustchaux
or lessyel-bovesaysbeau fifesque scripman
Iver rows ady's com lic surice It A
athatwith ries posedsquirmsitblywa Here

thesameeat ger cangans

atm ghtl thm ghtlaneaint t o itel i
th ie A eeiet

ngdsbyth ng h o d
gwrs oo
aaghs ysthgheaa eongththr fa e. E
sybr e nt

d a h r-a ae he a heat neltwenturfrac
nlbcsh ks. (58-9)

The reader may be able to assume something from the few
recognizable words that are interspersed through this sample,
but not unlike the previous example from his "Lectures on

Nothing," it is incredibly frustrating to the reader. In the

55
excerpt above, the reader is not even afforded the pleasure
of being able to read the piece out loud (at least not
without considerable difficulty). There appears to be no
rhyme or rhythm, just letters put together with the express
desire to produce emptiness and silence. In essence, the

words and letters that comprise the poem are displeasing to

the reader, and the silence that is left after the reading
process is over is aesthetically appealing.

Another example of the use of silence in modern poetry
is provided by Janet Perez in her "Functions of the Rhetoric
of Silence in Contemporary Spanish Fiction.” She discusses a
‘new poem' by Francisco Pino which has no specific meaning
and whose language fails to communicate anything intelligible
to the reader:

Ar'ddid'arvvo v'ir 'arr
1. Keridod' ikkod'
d'ievvvv' re keridod' ikkod'
2. ed' div' id' irr er'kor 'ddrar
oddrad' vv'arravrad' vvad'
vv' od' ivvad' vvad' ddevvvv'
orarred'
3. keridod, ikkod'
d'ievvvv're keridod' ikkod' (110)
As Perez notes: "Despite the presence of such characteristic
lyric devices as repetition, parallelism, alliteration and
presumably rhyme, these verses communicate nothing" (110).
This may be another instance in which "silence is superior to
utterance" (110). If, as Perez states: "The interpretation
of silence, of what silence communicates, must be contextual
or circumstantial" (110-1), then a coherent interpretation of

Pino's or Cage's poem becomes an impossibility, as there is

no tangible context from which to formulate an opinion. The

56
only possible response is that it does not communicate
anything other than emptiness and its own inability to
communicate an intelligible message to its audience. The
kind of silence inherent in and elicited by these poems
conveys emptiness and frustration to the reader. In

traditional poems such as San Juan de la Cruz's "La noche

oscura del alma," the individual words depend for their full
meaning on their relationship to all of the other words in
the poem. It is the context that allows each word to have
its full impact on the reader. In a new poem such as Pino's
or Cage's, however, the reader is given no help by the author
or the text. There is nothing, not even language, to grasp
on to in order to understand what the poet was trying to
communicate, if he was trying to communicate anything at all.

The use of silence and speech in drama does not appear
to have reached such radical extremes as it has in the kind
of poetry discussed above. Silence has always been an
essential component of the drama. Mime, for instance, is as
an excellent example of the expressive potential of gesture
and silence on stage. J. G. Marash believes that there are
three types of language: the language of speech, the written
language, and the language of gesture (9), and mime is an
example of the latter. Silence is present in all three types
of language, but it is more conspicuous in the language of
gesture because of the absence of sound. Mime is important
to this discussion because it shows that communication can be
achieved through means other than words.

In the spoken play, the language of gesture is combined

57
with the language of speech and writing. Therefore, many
different structural factors are at work, all of which must
come together in order for the script to have the desired
effect on the audience. First of all, there is the written
text, then there is an actor who must interpret the text and
visually represent that interpretation through his acting
abilities, and finally, the audience must observe and
critique the performance of the player. If the latter's
timing is off, for instance, then the impact of a scene may
be altered. Also, the actors do not only use words in order
to communicate the author's ideas; their facial expressions,
gestures, mannerisms and tone of voice will all convey
meanings and emotions to the spectators of the play that were
not necessarily inherent in the written text. Therefore,
when considering silence in drama, it is not only the written
text that must be addressed, but also the interpretation
and acting out of that text by the actor and the subsequent
reaction of the audience to the actor's performance.

A specific tool in drama which communicates through
silence is the stage direction. Stage directions guide the
actor and also help with the timing in a scene. One example
of a stage direction that communicates a complete thought
through silence is Scene 3, Act 1 of Don Alvero o legfuegge
del sino which reads: "Empieza a anochecer, y se va
oscureciendo el teatro. Don Alvaro sale embozado en una capa
de seda, con un gran sombrero blanco, botines y espuelas:
cruza lentamente la escena, mirando con dignidad y melancolia

a todos los lados, y se va por el puente. Todos lo observan

58
en silencio" (57). Not a word is spoken by don Alvaro and
yet many things are revealed about his personality. He is
obviously a solitary figure who, cloaked in mystery, is going
somewhere, but we do not know where, and who has come from
somewhere, but we do not know from where. In this context he
appears to be a lost and lonely soul whose destination is
uncertain and possibly dangerous. The darkness of the scene
heightens the solitary nature of the protagonist and also
implies that there is some foreboding in his life. In some
ways this short stage direction tells the spectator
everything that needs to be known about don Alvaro. The end
of the play, and the character's ultimate demise are
foreshadowed in these four brief lines. This scene is an
extremely powerful example of how silence is used in plays to
communicate and to heighten dramatic effect.
There is another type of drama called the Theatre de
l'Inexgrime that purposely uses the unspoken as a means of
communicating the inner emotions of characters to spectators.
May Daniels explains this type of drama as representing:
...a reaction against the abuse of the medium of
the spoken word. It turns away from sterile
rhetoric, violent action and intricacy of intrigue,
and looks towards the mysteries of the universe and
of human personality. Silence is secret, rich and
fraught with potentialities...In general, the
Unexpressed stimulates the imagination of the
spectator to complete the idea or emotion
suggested. (238)

One of the most important goals of the playwrights who belong

to the Theatre de l'Inexgrimé is to achieve a greater sense

of realism with regard to human emotions through the

unspoken. The goal itself is successfully achieved by the

59
dramatists, but the resultant effect on the plays is
ultimately damaging due to the fact that the expression of
deep human emotions on stage leads ultimately to
plotlessness. Daniels explains:
Ideas and emotions communicated through this medium
must of necessity be uncomplicated...The author is
obliged to concentrate on emotion, and on a pure
reproduction of emotion, instead of analysis of its
substance and speculation as to its nature. Hence,
instead of an active drama of analysis and
reflection, we have a passive drama of
reproduction...and in the psychological realism of
the...TheStre de l'Inexprime we have not philosophy
but history. (239)
Silence in drama is expressive, but it is somewhat limited in
its communicative possibilities when used to only one
specific end. In this type of drama especially, silence does
little more that "convey states of feeling, and even then, as
with the silent anagnorisis, it is by virtue of the preceding
dialogue" (Daniels 245). Daniels appears to be saying that
although silence can be a useful technique for expressing
human emotion on stage, it has many limitations and should
not be the primary consideration or theme of a play. She
further notes that the "healthiest type of dramatic silence
is that which points to the spoken word" (245). Again we see
that when silence and speech are abused and used to the
extreme, then creativity and aesthetic appeal can be
jeopardized. When kept in check, however, and considered in
relation to one another, then both silence and speech can be
creative and aesthetically appealing to an audience or a

reader.

Silence in drama does not always have to lead to dull,

60
passive plots, however. As we saw previously in this
section, when used selectively, silence can greatly enrich
the aesthetic response of the spectator. As Daniels
mentions, certain conservative uses of silence such as stage
directions, pauses, contrasting a speaking character with a
mute character can all greatly enhance dramatic effect on the
stage (7).

These more basic uses of silence have been present in
drama for centuries. As Kane explains, silence was used in
the Greek play as a positive, communicative tool: “We can go
to the well and trace the use of silence to Greek drama.
Aeschylus's taciturn characters Pylades and Cassandra are
significant in their nonverbal presence: an unspoken silence
communicates Pylades' love and support for Orestes, while
Cassandra's wall of silence contains and is ultimately
shattered by her unspeakable apocalyptic vision" (23). This
is an example of how silence can be expressive without being
intrusive on the original plot of the play.1

Having addressed the use of silence in poetry and drama,
we must now turn to a discussion of silence in prose fiction.
The two most helpful theoretical studies which focus on this
topic and can be applied to the subsequent discussion on
silence in the picaresque novels are Janet Perez' article,
which has already been mentioned in the previous discussion
on silence and poetry, and Edward Friedman's [fie
Antiheroine's Voice. Perez' article is the first one that
has attempted in some way to define, or at least identify,

the various types of silence that are used as narrative tools

61
in prose fiction. Some of the silences mentioned by Perez
which are applicable to a study of the Spanish picaresque
novels will briefly be discussed here. The first category is
literary silence which ”operates on the level of the work
(e.g., omission of the conclusion, or beginning in media
res), or of certain parts (truncation of scenes, omission of
certain actions, failure or refusal to make known things
concerning certain characters), as well as individual
utterances" (117-8). Another type of silence is exclusion in
which:
The presentation of "reality” is necessarily
selective, implying omission or silencing...details
of the character's life, past or present, for
example--must be silenced in the interests of
economy, coherence and impact. Such silencing of
the relevant but non-essential is indispensable to
the short story and other brief fiction, but
normally does not complicate interpretation,
prevent comprehension or create mystery, and thus
does not appear as conspicuous or perceptible
silence...its aesthetic function is indirect. (117)
As we have already noted, the majority of such exlusionary
silences in texts go unnoticed. Not every silence has to
hide or communicate something; some silences simply exist in
order to put the text into manageable and economic terms.
Another type of silence discussed by Perez is authorial
silence in which the author either silences himself in the
narrative or purposely withholds information from the reader,
thus making the reading process more challenging and complex
(119). The last kind of silence defined by Perez is
narrative silence, and it is the most important with regard

to the ensuing discussion of the picaresque novels. It is

defined as follows: “It is not the authorial slip of the pen

62

but the use of silence as a deliberate and self-conscious
device which constitutes what I term literary or narrative
silence, and whose variations and refinements of use make up
the rhetoric of silence" (118).r This type of silence can
alter a text from within, adding a new dimension to the
interpretative process in that a reader must be as conscious
of what is absent or silent in a narrative work as what is
present and voiced. Narrative silence presents itself as a
multifarious device that can be manipulated by the various
literary personae in a text in order to alter the direction
of a plot. It is not an innocent oversight by a character or
an author but the conscious use of silence to manipulate and
control the text. Therefore, this type of silence in essence
acquires a textual voice of its own that must be taken into
account by a reader when attempting to interpret a text.
Narrative silence is especially pertinent to the ensuing
discussion of the picaresque novels because it is also the
medium through which the presence of the implied author can
be surmised by the reader, as we shall see shortly. Some
narrative silences are more obvious than others, but all are
important to the process of interpretation as they reveal
important information about the complex dialectic that exists
between the literary personae in the text, and the messages
that these personae are trying to communicate to the reader
outside of the text.

Another helpful aspect of Perez' study is a list that she
provides of literary devices that comprise part of what she

calls the "rhetoric of opposition" (129) and which can be

n;

(I

(7'

63
used in conjunction with silence in order to communicate
important textual messages. It is clear from this list that
silence is a very expansive topic that does not have to be
blatant, but can also be implied through such literary tools
as those mentioned by Perez below. Many of these narrative
devices will be used by the picaros in order to manipulate
the reader's perception of them in their novels and therefore
warrant mention here:
Circumlocution, periphrasis, euphemism,
indirectness, verbosity, syntactic complexity,
vagueness, omission, oblique or elliptical
presentation, incomplete or truncated versions of
events, impassivity, selectivity, objectivism,
accumulation of detail governed by essentially
negative criteria, temporal and spatial evasion,
narrative discontinuity, reiteration, parallelism,
irony, allegory, the false overture and false
protagonist--all are characteristically combined
with silence in the rhetoric of opposition. (129)
All of these techniques can be used to communicate
information in a text and it is therefore clear that silence
and its variations can be extremely powerful tools in the act
of textual composition. Although Perez' article specifically
addresses contemporary Spanish fiction, her definitions are
applicable to all types of literature. After all, silence
has always been present in texts, it is just that its
importance as an integral part of narrative structures and
its effect on the act of interpretation has only recently
been acknowledged.
The other critical study that realizes the importance of
silence in prose fiction, and specifically in the picaresque

novels, is Edward Friedman's The Antiheroine's Voice.

Although his book does not deal primarily with the topic of

64
silence, it is recognized as an important theme thoughout his
study. Friedman, like Perez, demonstrates that silence has
many possible variations, some of which may not be blatant,
but which are nevertheless important. For instance, a study
of silence in the picaresque novels is not only limited to
examining such obvious examples as Justina's "...yo me callo"
or Lazaro's "...por evitar prolijidad" (although these are
important examples of how silence is used by the picaros to
purposely edit their texts), but also extends itself to an
examination of irony, voice-over, contradictions, contrasts,
interpolated texts and digressions to name just a few that
are especially pertinent to the picaresque novels to be
addressed. Therefore, silence can no longer simply be
considered in terms of Dauenhauer's fore and after silences
which separate words and allow language to be intelligible,
it must also be recognized as a powerful narrative technique
that is capable of communicating a message of its own through
its various guises. What follows is a brief summary of some
of the uses of silence in the picaresque novels that
demonstrate its multifariousness and its pervasiveness in
those texts. For instance, the structure of Lazarillo de
Tormes is comprised of a continual tension between silence
and speech which affects our perception of the character,
narrator and author and which symbolically presents itself as
a struggle for authorial control of the text. In Guzman de
Alfarache, the supposed message of the work is constantly
deferred or silenced through digressions, and what Guzman

does not tell us provides us with important information about

65
both his personality and his supposed religious conversion.
In La icara Justina, the voicing over of the female
protagonist by the male author silences not only Justina's
feminine voice but also her plausibility as a fictional
character. Finally, in El Buscdn the narrator manipulates
silence in order to conceal information about himself, but in
the process of concealing information, he reveals the truth
about himself. It is clear from these brief and general
remarks on the picaresque novels that silence plays an
important role in the texts. Some of these ideas are touched
upon by Friedman, but they will be extensively developed and
expanded upon in the ensuing chapters of this dissertation in
an attempt to show that silence, which can appear in many
shapes and forms, must be considered when interpreting these
works, as it reveals important information about the
characters and their authors and the tension that exists
between them for control of the text.

The use of silence in memory is another important topic
discussed by Friedman. All of the novels that will be
addressed in this dissertation present a divided point of
view between the narrating present and the experiencing past
and so memory is an integral factor in the act of
storytelling. The process of recounting a story necessarily
implies omission and silence because an experience cannot be
reproduced in text without something being left out: “...all
experience is constantly exposed to a new present or future,
it will constantly be in a state of flux, so that what has

been experienced can never be fully understood, and what has

66
been understood can never coincide totally with what
constitutes the self...The self is essentially incapable of
completion" (Imglied 144-5). Some exclusions are necessary
for the sake of textual economy when reproducing memories in
literature, but other omissions are selected purposely by the

protagonist or the implied author in order to achieve some

kind of textual message. The intentional silencing of
information by one or both of these narrative personae serves
to both conceal and reveal information about the characters
and about the text. The point is that the written text
itself is also a victim of silence. The pretext of the
account must necessarily be different from the actual written
story because: "The memories that shape the account are
distorted by design; time is not the enemy of truth but
rather the ally of metamorphosed truth...The narrative
pretext...the explanation of a situation, mediates the
selective process" (Friedman 21). The pretext then, or the
primary fictional truth of the story, is ultimately silenced.
The narrative act can never be a carbon copy of experience,
and in fact, the act of writing itself has already initiated
the process of concealing and revealing information in the
text. The important thing to remember is that silence is at
work even before the narrative begins. Its presence is felt
at every level of the act of textual composition and
therefore cannot be ignored.

Another important aspect of silence in the picaresque
novels is the role that it plays in the dialectical

relationship between the reader and the text. In his books

67
The Imglied Reader and IgeiAct of Reading, Wolfgang Iser
discusses the inherent silences in texts and the effect that
they have on the reader. At times he calls them silences,
but most frequently he refers to them as gaps or blanks:

The text is a whole system of...processes and so,
clearly, there must be a place within this system
for the person who is to perform the
reconstituting. This place is marked by the gaps
in the text--it consists in the blanks which the
reader is to fill in...Whenever the reader bridges
the gaps, communication begins. The gaps function
as a kind of pivot on which the whole text-reader
relationship revolves. Hence the structured blanks
of the text stimulate the process of ideation to be
performed by the reader on terms set by the text.
(ec_t_ 169)

Iser believes that the imagination of the reader is what
brings the text to life. Without the participation of the
latter a written work would remain static. The text,
therefore, must necessarily leave gaps or blanks for the
reader to fill in. It is in this way that the imagination of
the reader is stimulated, and that interesting
interpretations are allowed to evolve. Iser explains:
The participation of the reader could not be
stimulated if everything were laid out in front of
him. This means that the formulated text must
shade off, through allusions and suggestions, into
a text that is unformulated though nonetheless
intended. Only in this way can the reader's
imagination be given the scope it needs; the
written text furnishes it with indications which
enable it to conjure up what the text does not
reveal. (Imglied 31)
The inherent silences in the text are therefore important
factors in the process of interpretation: "...the blank,
however, designates a vacancy in the overall system of the

text, the filling of which brings about an interaction of

textual patterns" (Act 182). These interactions between the

68
various processes of the fictional piece are what bring the
text, as experience, into existence. Every text must be
experienced in order for it to have value, and the inherent
gaps that are left for the reader to fill in are what make
every reading experience unique.

An examination of the relationship between silence and
the reader is also essential in order to reveal some of the
dialectical processes that are at work within the picaresque
novels. When dealing with the gaps in written discourse, the
reader enters into an unsure, hazy area, where all meanings
are possible depending on an individual's perspective.
Comprehending this kind of relationship also requires that
the text be examined beyond the physical realm of the written
word. The interpretation that is a result of the dialectic
between reader and text can only be achieved at a metatextual
level.2 At this level of discourse the reader can also
identify the implied authorial voice and its relationship to
the characters in the texts. Once this tense relationship
between the author and the character has been surmised, the
reader then has to decide which of the two voices, the
author's or the picaro's, is the more credible and which
really has control over the narrating process. He in essence
becomes a mediator between the two personae and will
ultimately decide the fate of both. It is therefore up to
him to determine whether the picaro is an innocent victim of
authorial subversion or if he is a self-conscious rogue and
unreliable narrator.

The picaros in effect become the pivot between the

69
author and the reader because their existence is the only
thing that is apparent and obvious at a textual level. The
implied author, on the other hand, can only be surmised
through the reading process, and the reader is necessarily
detached from the text because of his existence outside of
the fictional realm. The characters' words and silences are
the only concrete source of information available to the
reader in the picaresque novels, and it is only through an
examination of their discourse that the implied authorial
voice can be identified. We are not only listening to the
characters' words, we are also listening to their silences
which can tell us a great deal about the story and the other
voices present in the text. Much of the study that follows
will deal closely with the picaros' attempts at self-
assertion which are continually being thwarted by the
intrusions of an implied authorial voice. Their very
fictional survival and success is dependent upon the reader's
ability to recognize the subversion and silencing to which
they are subjected.

Iser also discusses authorial silence and its effects on
both characters and readers. With regard to the picaresque
novels this type of silence can take two forms, the first of
which has a marked effect on the reader's participation in
the text and the second which manipulates and controls the
textual authority of the picaro. The first type of authorial
silence occurs when the author purposely withholds
information about a character. Iser explains this technique

as follows: "...the author's deliberate renunciation of

70
detailed characterization serves to keep the reader from
becoming involved in the characters as such, and to involve
him instead in the whole process of dicovery" (Imglied 250).
By providing the reader with characters who are "incomplete”,
the former is forced to fill in the blanks left by the
author, and in the process produces a character that may be
very different from the skeletal frame provided by the text
itself. In other words, although the reader cannot become
involved with the character who exists statically on a page,
he may become involved in the creation of a hybrid character
that evolves out of a synthesis of that which is preexistent
in the text and those traits applied to him by the reader's
imagination. The reader in essence becomes the partial
author of the dynamic character. The groundwork is initially
laid by the author, but the living image of the character is
created by the reader. The reason why this "dual authorship"
of the character is important to a study of the picaresque
novels is because it diminishes the author's control over his
character. The dynamic representation of the picaro can no
longer be completely controlled by the author because the
image of that persona has been created beyond the boundaries
of the fictional realm where the author no longer has access
to his creation. The dimension that the reader adds to the
character's personality through the act of reading provides
the latter with a certain degree of autonomy from his author
and a degree of freedom from the text. An author's attempts
at subverting and silencing a character can therefore be

severely undermined by the reader's participation in the act

71

of textual composition because the latter, due to his
involvement in the creation of the dynamic character, has the
ability to identify the subversive presence of the implied
author within the character's discourse. It is the
recognition of possible subversion that allows the reader to
reexamine the text in an attempt to separate the picaro's
voice from his voicing-over by the author. If this can be
accomplished, then the reader may still be able to feel
sympathy for the subverted picaro and contempt for the
implied author who is constantly undermining the character‘s
attempts at self-assertion. In this sense, it is the
reader's degree of involvement in the act of textual
composition that will ultimately determine whether the
picaresque authors will be successful at subverting and
silencing their characters or if the latter will acquire a
unique voice of their own. Therefore, the gaps left by the
author for the reader to fill in allow the latter to produce
a dynamic image of the picaro and can also expose the
author's manipulation of his voice and text. The reader is
therefore placed in a very powerful position, a fact that is
substantiated textually in the picaresque novels through the
constant preoccupation of authors and narrators alike
regarding the fictional reader's reaction to each of them and
to the text. It is the reader and the reading process that
ultimately have the power to undermine the author's control
over the text and to authenticate the picaro's existence.

The second type of authorial silence involves the

author's apparent absence or withdrawal from the narrator's

72
discourse. This type of silence serves to heighten the
illusion of the picaro's control over the text. However, it
is often the author's absence from the text that signals his
/ her implied presence to the reader. Iser notes the
following when discussing the sparse authorial intrusions in

Ivy Compton-Burnett's A Heritage and Ite Hietorv and their

effects on the text:
...the author’s sporadic inquit interpolations seem
to be there in order to help the reader, but the
very sparseness and neutrality of the ‘help' are
liable to cause more bewilderment that
enlightenment: we know the author is there, but if
she is there, why doesn't she tell us more...we are
made more conscious of what she does not tell us,
and as a result the characters in the novel take on
a degree of independence from the author that is
not dissimilar to the gap between the characters
and the reader. (Implied 237)
In the picaresque novels this sense of independence is
deceptive however, because the author is still present within
the narrator's discourse. He may not be physically
recognizable on the pages of the text, but can nevertheless
be identified through several different narrative markers.
First, his presence can be surmised when the picaro blatantly
contradicts himself or says something that is clearly against
his best interests. Secondly, it can take the form of a
narrator's over-omniscience when the storyteller tells us
about an event or a conversation to which he was not privy.
Finally, when a character does not speak when it would
behoove him to do so, it is another indication that the
implied author may be present in his words, forcing him to

remain silent. When such inconsistencies are present in the

narrator's speech we have to suspect that his words and

73
silences may not be his own but those of an implied authorial
voice. Both types of authorial silence that have been
discussed here demonstrate two of the original points of this
chapter; that silence does not necessarily imply absence or
emptiness and that the gaps that are an inherent part of a
text provide a medium through which textual messages can be
communicated. Such is the case in the picaresque novels
where various types of silence are introduced and used to
specific narrative ends.

In conclusion, the scope of this methodological chapter
has been broad in order to understand the progressive
evolution and importance of silence as a powerful phenomenon
both in life and art. As we have seen, no longer does it
only have to be considered in terms of its relationship to
religion and philosophy. It can also be acknowledged as an
important rhetorical device in literature. Using some of
Iser's, Perez' and Friedman's ideas on narrative silence as a
base, the ensuing discussion will demonstrate that there is a
rhetoric of silence in the picaresque novels which, under its
various narrative guises, functions as a powerful device that
can be manipulated by characters, narrators and authors alike
in order to produce specific textual messages. Silence will
be identified as the means by which picaros attempt to
authenticate their existence in text, and also as the means
used by implied authors to subvert the narrative control of
the picaros in an attempt to silence them. It is through a
study of silence and its use as a tool of subversion that we

will be able to identify the inherent struggle that exists in

74

these novels between the implied authors and the picaros for
control of the text. It will ultimately be up to the reader
to decide who is in control and whether or not the picaros do
manage to acquire a voice of their own or if they are
successfully silenced by an intrusive authorial voice.
Several different types of silences will be discussed in the
ensuing pages ranging from the blatant to the implied in an
attempt to show that silence, as much as words, must be taken

into consideration when analyzing picaresque fiction.

75

Notes

1In The Language of Silence, Leslie Kane discusses some
of the other uses of silence in traditional and modern drama:
"Historically, then, silence has been employed by playwrights
to evaluate, censure, or support an act, to indicate
manipulative relationships, to increase or release dramatic
tension, to make words more significant by their contrast
with silent response, to reveal interior states of being, and
to make thematic statement. In addition to these traditional
functions of nonverbal symbolism, the modern playwright,
reducing the role of speech and increasing that of silence,
has employed the latter as a metaphor for evanescence and
entrapment. He conveys evanescence nonverbally by the
contraction of time; the time of life is, then it is not.
(24)

=The word metatextual will be used in this study to
connote that the reader cannot achieve an interpretation of a
piece of writing on a textual level because he exists beyond
the fictional realm, and the text cannot be considered and
interpreted as part of the real world of the reader because
of its very fictionality. Therefore, an interpretation can
neither be reached within the pages of the text nor in the
real world, it can only be achieved at a metatextual level,
one which does not owe its allegiance specifically to reality
or text, but which nevertheless incorporates elements of
both.

Chapter Three

The Silent Struggle for Authority in Lazarillo degTormes

Lazarillo de Tormes is a text rich in a variety of
silences that serve to communicate important information

about the characters, the narrator, the author, and the

narrative act itself. All of these silences can fit into one
of Janet Perez' three categories: exclusion, authorial or
narrative, but their individual effects on the text cannot be
explained simply by using one of these definitions. As we
have already noted, silence presents itself in many different
forms, some of which are not as easily identifiable as
others. The purpose of this chapter is to first point out
the various types of silence in beeerillo de,Torme§, and then
to examine their impact upon the individual chapters, the
text as a whole, the personality of the narrator and the
relationship between the narrator and the implied author. We
will find that some of these silences are quite innocent in
that they are not meant to manipulate text, but others are
used purposely by either Lazaro or the implied author in
order to achieve a specific narrative end. In this novel we
are presented with a skilled and self-conscious narrator and
an equally skilled yet intrusive implied author, both of whom
use silence in order to subvert another character's authority
and to temporarily take control of the text. As we shall see
shortly, silence is an important narrative device that is
used to achieve a number of different ends, the most

important of which, apart from functioning as a means of

76

77
subversion, is to demonstrate that silence, in and of itself,
is one of the primary messages communicated by the text.
Some of the silences that will be discussed in this
chapter include the enigmatic silencing of the pretext and
the geeg, the use of situational silence by the character to

deceive his various masters as well as its use by the

narrator in order to build up the reader's sympathy for the
innocent boy who is a victim of abuse. These silences help
to establish the character's ability to manipulate reticence
from an early age. After discussing the innocent situational
silences of the first three tratados, we will move to a study
of enigmatic narrative silences that bespeak the presence of
the implied author in the narrator's discourse. It is
through an examination of these silences that its use as a
tool of narrative subversion can be surmised. The
progressive silencing of the narrator's emotional self will
also be discussed to further elucidate the subversion to
which he is subjected by the implied author in the text.
Finally we hope to show that, even though subverted, the
narrator is not completely silenced and that the text itself
becomes a struggle between him and his author for narrative
control. A study of silence will help us to bring this
struggle to the fore and to determine which of the two
voices, if either, truly has control over the text.
Lazarillo de Tormes begins with a silence that
immediately places the narrator of the text in a pronounced
position of authority over the reader. It involves the

silencing of the pretext, the original letter that vuestra

78
merced wrote to Lazaro requesting an account of the geeg.
The narrator never allows the reader to see the letter, but
simply explains inadequately that: "...vuestra merced escribe
se le escriba y relate el caso muy por extenso" (54). The
original letter may have provided us with some answers

regarding the reasons for the request or the nature of the

caso. As Peter Dunn has noted, the letter is a very powerful

 

speech act: "...Lazaro's text is his response to a previous
text. That originating text does not exist for us of
course...that lost letter was a very powerful speech act“
("Purloined" 6). By withholding this information from the
reader, the narrator immediately places himself in a position
of authority in the text and the reader at a marked
disadvantage. Our only point of reference and source of
information is what Lazaro tells us, and so we have no choice
but to be led into the text by a narrator who is obviously
manipulating it from the beginning.

If the phantom letter is the pretext of the written
account, then the geeg mentioned within it serves as the very
reason for the text's composition. In much the same way that
the narrator purposely silences the narrative pretext, he
also remains silent about the eeeg, never adequately
explaining what it is during the course of his story. There

have been many theories about what the caso represents,‘ one

 

of the most frequent being that it refers to the menage a
troie between the archpriest, Lazaro and his wife.2 Although
a feasible assumption, nowhere in the text is this menage a

trois theory clearly stated or substantiated. It would be

79
futile to attempt to explain the ee§g_at this point because,
for all intents and purposes, it appears, at least to this
reader, that the narrator meant for it not to be fully
understood. He again is purposely withholding information
from the reader in an attempt to assert his authority over
the text.

At first, Lazaro's reluctance to disclose information
appears logical considering that both he and the mysterious
vuestra merced already know what the ge§g_is. The narrator,
however, is aware that his reading public includes more than
just vuestra merced, a fact that is confirmed in the prologue
where he shares his hopes that the account will be read and
enjoyed by many, not just by vuestra merced: "Yo por bien
tengo que cosas tan sefialadas, y por ventura nunca oidas ni
vistas, vengan a noticia de muchos y no se entierren en la
sepultura del olvido. Pues podria ser que alguno que las
lea, halle algo que le agrade, y a los que no ahondaren
tanto, los deleite" (emphasis mine 53). There is another
inconsistency in the prologue that points to the possibility
that Lazaro's silencing and withholding of information from
the real reader is a self-conscious act and it involves the
narrator's response back to vuestra merced. Lazaro does not
simply return a letter, which would have been an appropriate
form of reply, he instead writes a book. We know that he is
writing a book from his discussion of Pliny's ideas on the
implicit value of all books in the prologue: ”...dice Plinio
que no hay libro, por malo que sea, que no tenga alguna cosa

buena" (53). From these two brief textual examples we are

80
given important information about the narrator. First of
all, the silencing of the pretext and the eeeg from the
beginning must be seen, not as an innocent oversight, but as
a self-conscious omission by a skilled and manipulative
narrator who is trying to assert his authority through the
act of textual composition. Secondly, however, the
contradictions in his discourse regarding his readers:
vuestra merced and the general reading public and the fact
that he writes a book and not a letter, produce a dual image
of him as not only a self-conscious and skilled narrator but
also as an unreliable one. Later we will see that the
inconsistencies that are apparent in the prologue are not
oversights by a narrator who blatantly contradicts himself,
but part of a master plan enacted by the implied author in
the text who, intent upon subverting the narrator's
authority, makes him look unreliable in the text through
these contradictions.

By making his life story into a book, Lazaro's purpose
necessarily extends beyond simply hoping to comply with
vuestra merced's request. He must have another reason or
some kind of incentive for exposing himself in text as he
does. It would appear from the prologue that the incentive
is the honour and fame that the penning of the text might
bring him. The vehicle through which he will reach his "buen
puerto" (54) is the text and the "buen puerto" itself is the
notoriety that he might achieve through that text.3 Lazaro
sees the act of textual composition as a means of

authenticating his existence and of acquiring a voice that

81

was denied him in society as a picaro. Therefore it makes
sense that the narrator will edit his text, including only
that information that portrays him in the best possible light
and remaining silent about that which is incriminating. The
account that we are reading is not an innocent stream of
consciousness that recounts Lazaro's life in print, it is a
collage of carefully selected memories that will serve a
specific function and elicit a particular response in the
reader. The point is that we are dealing with an extremely
self-conscious narrator who is manipulating text from the
very beginning in order to portray a specific image of
himself to the reader. The narrator's selectivity again
implies that he is silencing important information about his
life. If Lazaro can be selective about which episodes to
discuss, then it also stands to reason that he is
manipulating the manner in which he tells his story. As we
have noted previously in this dissertation, the use of memory
necessarily implies silence and editing. The most
advantageous aspect of memory for the Lazaro is that he can
choose to remember only those episodes from his past that
make him look favourable in the reader's eyes. The
disadvantage to the reader, however, is that the character's
true self may appear to remain isolated and unknown to us.

One of the most skillfully created memories is that of
the character Lazarillo. The text of Lazarillo de Tormes is
presented through a divided point of view: that of the adult
narrator, LAzaro, and the experiencing child, Lazarillo.

Lazaro does an excellent job of portraying an image of

Lazar

is s:

EIDP'

82
Lazarillo as a living, experiencing being when in reality he
is silent from the very beginning. Lazarillo does not
experience the episodes with the blind man, the priest and
the squire at a textual level, because those events precede
the writing of the novel. In the text, Lazarillo and all of

his experiences are simply carefully recreated memories of

the adult Lazaro. The character Lazarillo then is nothing
more that a fictionalization of another fictional being. One
way in which we can see that Lazarillo is pure fiction, in
the sense that he is a recreation and not an experiencing
character, is through the manner in which Lazaro tells the
story of the boy's life with a marked lack of emotion.
Shipley notes this empty emotional attitude of the narrator
in the face of the boy's victimization:
He represents Lazarillo's victimization over the
years, at the hands of many repulsive masters,
without the resentment, rancor, rage, and revulsion
his experiences justify. Lazarillo's pain does not
pain Lazaro or the reader...The completed design,
albeit fragile and deceptive, is comic in that it
portrays the protagonist's integration into his
community though we sense that in truth he remains
isolated. ("Resting" 112, 114)
The lack of emotion of the adult reveals to us that Lazarillo
is an empty shell, a silent entity that is used as a
rhetorical device by Lazaro in order to portray a specific
image of himself to the reader. This manipulation of point
of view presents itself as a subversive act (with regard to
Lazaro's relationship to Lazarillo) that again places the
narrator in a marked position of authority. We have already

established that he attempts to exert control over the real

reader by withholding key information, and we can now see

83
that he also exerts control within the text over the
experiencing Lazarillo.

The silencing of the pretext and the geeg, the
mysterious identity of vuestra merced and his request, and
the overall selectivity of the narrator when telling the
story of his life, all point to the fact that Lazaro knows
how to use silence in order to manipulate the text and the
reader's response to it. Lazaro's self-consciousness as a
narrator has been repeatedly stressed here in order to
establish that the account is contrived and carefully put
together by a skilled storyteller who wants to communicate
something very specific to the reader, that he is in control
of the text and that the act of writing presents the means to
his end of gaining notoriety for himself, if not in society
then by way of fiction. We shall see shortly, however, that
his plan is severely undermined by another presence in the
text, the implied author, who will subject him to the same
kind of subversion and silencing that the narrator had
previously imposed upon Lazarillo and the readers of his
text.

In order to establish the intrusive presence of the
implied author in the text, it is first necessary to examine
the various uses of silence at a textual level, because it is
the change in the nature of these silences that will
ultimately signal us as to the presence of the implied
authorial voice. The first three chapters will be examined
as a unit because the use of silence and the narrator's

portrayal of the character are basically consistent

84
throughout. There are really no narrative silences in these
initial chapters in the sense that silence is not used as a
self-conscious device to subvert authority or control the
text, but is instead a tool used by Lazarillo in his
experiencing life in order to achieve certain ends. This
type of silence will be called background or situational
silence and it refers to cases in which the character (in his
experiencing life, not in his narrating life) purposely
remains silent in order to acquire something tangible. Apart
from allowing the picaro to make certain acquisitions,
silence also serves three other functions. First, it becomes
the key to his survival in that it is the tool he uses in
order to keep from starving. Second, it is used as a means
of deception by the character, and third, it serves to
heighten the reader's sympathy toward the character who
suffers at the hands of his cruel masters.

In the first tratado, Lazaro has to rely on his ability
to remain silent in order to drink the wine from the blind
man‘s jug and to switch the sausage for the turnip. The
other important episode in this chapter that involves a more
blatant use of situational silence is the incident with the
grapes. The blind man and Lazaro make an agreement that they
will share the grapes equally between them, but when the
blind man violates their agreement and starts taking more
than his fair share, Lazarillo, instead of protesting,
remains silent and simply follows suit eating the grapes two
and three at a time. It is Lazarillo's silence in this

incident that betrays him because the blind man, noticing

85
Lazarillo's reticence upon his own violation of the rules,
naturally assumes that his servant must also be taking more
than he is entitled to: "dSabes en que veo que las comiste
tres a tres? En que comia yo dos a dos y callabas" (emphasis
mine 121). The blind man in essence points out to the reader
Lazarillo's ability to consciously use silence in order to
deceive and acquire what he wants. These may appear to be
inconsequencial uses of silence in the text, but the point is
that the character has learned how to manipulate silence to
productive ends from a very early age. The initial skill is
present in the young boy and it is subsequently developed and
refined by the adult Lazaro who learns how to use it to much
more productive ends as a self-conscious device.

Background silence is the means used by Lazarillo to
survive in the second tratado. The cruel priest of Maqueda
starves the boy and it is only by accessing the priest's
chest, and the bread inside of it, that he manages to stay
alive. His success at acquiring the bread without the
priest's knowledge depends on his absolute silence. He
manages to trick and perplex his master through silence for
some time, and it is ultimately interesting that it is a
noise emitted through the hole in the key in Lazarillo's
mouth that puts an end to the boy's silent success. The use
of background silence is not that noticeable in this chapter
until we are introduced to the faint whistling sound through
the key, and it is the mention of sound here that makes the
presence of the silence preceding it all the more apparent.

The character's need to use silence in order to obtain food

86
for survival in these first two chapters produces an image of
the boy as an innocent victim of his cruel masters' abuse.
Therefore the reader's response to the character is one of
sympathy.

In the third chapter, the use of silence begins to
change somewhat in that it becomes a more refined skill. It
can still be considered situational silence in that it is
used at the level of plot by Lazarillo to deceive his master,
but the deception here serves a different end. He is not
silent in order to acquire something tangible like food, but
instead uses silence in order to acquire the respect of the
squire. When his master asks him for an account of his life,
he divulges only that information that will portray him in a
favourable light, remaining silent about anything that might
be incriminating to him: "...preguntandome muy por extenso de
donde era y como habia venido a aquella ciudad. Y yo le di
mas larga cuenta que quisiera...Con todo eso, yo le satisfice
de mi persona lo mejor que mentir supe, diciendo mis bienes y
callando lo demas" (emphasis mine 79). This last line is
essential with regard to what ensues in the narrative in that
it reveals to the reader that Lazarillo knows how to remain
silent and lie in order to be perceived in the best possible
light. As Joseph Ricapito notes: "Lazaro, sin pretensibn
alguna, calla lo que conviene callar y si es necesario,
miente” (Lazarillo 153). Therefore the narrator knows how to
lie in order to manipulate his master's perception of him,
and lying implies that he silences the truth and only

divulges selected information, or else substitutes the truth

87
with a fiction in the form of an idealized image of himself.
The logical question that should arise in the reader's mind
at this point is, if Lazarillo can lie to the squire, then is
it not feasible to assume that he could also be lying to his
readers? From his brief remarks above we must recognize
Lazarillo's awareness of the ends that selective editing,
silence and lying can achieve on his masters within the text
and on his readers outside of it. We know he wants to make a
good impression on us and on the squire, and so logically he
will only share those facts (or fictions) that will portray
him in a favourable light, and will omit that which degrades
him. Lazarillo is clearly conscious of the value of omission
and silence when defending his case.

" It is interesting in this tratado that both the master
and the servant rely on silence in order to preserve their
so-called integrity and keep up appearances. They live in
mutual silence when it comes to telling the truth about their
respective situations. As Mancing explains: "The most
intense and moving pages of the work are those in which the
squire and the street urchin feign ignorance of each other's
reality and strain to communicate obliquely" ("Deceptiveness"
428). Neither character is honest with the other with
respect to his true self. The verbal exchanges that do take
place between them are oblique as Mancing notes and they
present themselves as empty communication or as
noncommunication. Both Lazarillo and the squire constantly
avoid the truth and rely instead on maintaining appearances,

which itself becomes a means of silencing the truth.

87

with a fiction in the form of an idealized image of himself.

The logical question that should arise in the reader's mind

if Lazarillo can lie to the squire, then is

at this point is,
it not feasible to assume that he could also be lying to his

readers‘? From his brief remarks above we must recognize
Lazarillo's awareness of the ends that selective editing,

silence and lying can achieve on his masters within the text

We know he wants to make a

and on his readers outside of it.
and so logically he

good impression on us and on the squire,
will only share those facts (or fictions) that will portray
him in a favourable light, and will omit that which degrades
him. Lazarillo is clearly conscious of the value of omission
and silence when defending his case.

f It is interesting in this tratado that both the master

and the servant rely on silence in order to preserve their
So-cal led integrity and keep up appearances. They live in

film tual silence when it comes to telling the truth about their

As Mancing explains: "The most

raspective situations.
in tense and moving pages of the work are those in which the

squire and the street urchin feign ignorance of each other's
r‘eality and strain to communicate obliquely" ("Deceptiveness"

428). Neither character is honest with the other with

r‘aspect to his true self. The verbal exchanges that do take

[:1 aCe between them are oblique as Mancing notes and they

present themselves as empty communication or as
“Dhcommunication. Both Lazarillo and the squire constantly
aVoid the truth and rely instead on maintaining appearances,

Which itself becomes a means of silencing the truth.

88
Following his master‘s lead, Lazarillo begins to withold
information in order to be perceived as something that he is

not. De Long-Tonelli points out the character's hesitancy to

divulge information and how it reflects a change in his

attitude toward his text in this chapter: "...este tratado

representa un cambio definitivo en la actitud del narrador
frente a su materia--ya no esta dispuesto a revelar sus

juicios frente al amo" (385). It is curious that Lazarillo,

who previously was so adept at using silence to manipulate

and deceive other people, apparently does not see through the

hypocrisy of his own silence in this particular tratado.
Al though his reticence here is still one that is functional

in the character's experiencing life and is not purposely

used by the narrator to manipulate discourse, it is an early

9 1 :impse of the direction that silence will take in the

en suing chapters. Here the character uses silence to alter

the squire's perception of him. Later the narrator will use

31 lence as a self-conscious device to alter the reader's

DD inion of him.

It is in these initial three chapters that we find out

thE most about Lazarillo. In fact, the narrator appears to

ba intent upon telling us as much as he possibly can about

th$ character. Shipley notes that chapters I-III: "...carry

ta their inclusive limits the narrator's claims of full

csiSclosure" ("Resting" 107). If this is the case, then an

examination of silence (other than the situational silences

already mentioned) may appear superfluous in this portion of

the text. Under the guise of full disclosure, however, our

89

narrator is still being selective. It is important as
Shipley points out above that full disclosure is what the
twarrator claims to do. He also points out the "limits" to

his discourse. Within the context of his limited vision the

narrator does go out of his way to tell the reader as much as

in the second chapter when the

possible. For instance ,

priest discovers the trick that Lazarillo has been playing on

him, he beats and renders him unconscious. As Lazaro tells

us: ”De lo que sucedio en aquellos tres dias siguientes
ninguna fe dare, porque los tuve en el vientre de la ballena”

(77). Even though the boy is incapacitated, the adult

storyteller goes out of his way to make sure that we know

vurjat happened to him. By recounting what his neighbours and

his master have told him, Lézaro makes sure that the reader

is informed. The reason why he is so concerned that the

reader know this information is twofold. First, the

appearance of full disclosure makes the narrator appear as if

he has nothing to hide and therefore can be trusted. Second,

the narrator knows that a detailed account of the beating and

what happened afterwards will help to increase his reader's

sF’I'I'opathy toward the character. For instance, remarks

hegarding the gossip about his misfortunes, such as the
12° 1 lowing, make Lazarillo look victimized: "Ahi tornaron de

r“4€evo a contar mis Cuitas y a reirlas, y yo, pecador a

1 1orarlas" (77). It is important to stress that Lazaro does

“Qt tell us his own version of what happened after the
bEating because he is unable to, not because he does not want

to. Up until this point the illusion of the abused boy is

90

Careftllly maintained through the appearance of full

disclosure by a clever narrator who hopes to acquire sympathy

for t he boy .

The use of asides is another means by which the narrator
attempts to keep up the appearance of full disclosure with

the reader. Carey describes the asides as follows:

They are the primary means by which he [Lazaro] can
reveal his interiority-his most intimate thoughts,

often bitingly sarcastic and critical of
society...It is the only manner in which he can
speak freely and truthfully in a world where
everything is based upon en afios, mentiras, and
ilusiones...They are an important clue to the
psychological development of Lazaro, since in
effect they offer the only possibility of a partial
emotional release from all the tensions produced by

the fear, hunger, and physical pain of his
existence. ("Asides" 119-20)

ThEPESEe utterances,4 which are meant to replicate the actual
”D"sts of Lazarillo at the time of experience, create a close

relationship between the reader and the victimized boy who

has; {been starved, beaten and generally mistreated. The

asides are one of the few glimpses that we have of the boy as
a ..V‘Eeal" character in the text, where he is allowed by the
'Nir‘r-iator to speak for himself. When considered more closely,
hDNEVer’ it seems highly unlikely that the narrator would be
at)1-E3 to remember his exact childhood words after so many
year‘s. We have to therefore assume that they are not
La‘zarillo's pure, untouched words, but an embellished version
taf ‘those words that have been purposely put together by the

ruir‘rator in order to produce the maximum effect on the

reader. The use of asides, which are directed specifically

tc’ the reader, allow him to be privy to certain of the

91

Picaro's thoughts and emotions to which the other characters

in the text are not a party. Therefore the reader is placed

in a privileged position in the text, believing that he knows

a great deal about the character when in actual fact he knows

very little.
A study of silence in these initial chapters may appear

r9duhdant considering the narrator's loquacity. This is only

however. When examined in

true when considered in microcosm,

50715 unction with the rest of the novel, such a study is

per-fact“, justified and necessary. Disclosure must be

rPCDQnized and examined in these three chapters in order to

ful 1y appreciate the radical silence that follows it in

ChaI'Dter four. Furthermore, all of our qualitative and

quantitative information regarding the character is provided

In these initial chapters. If we do not examine this

1“‘FQr-mation then we will be unable to identify the changes

that occur in the narrator's personality and in his attitude

toward the text. Therefore, the first three chapters are

eSsfihtial to our study as they serve as a contrast to

demthtrate a progression from full disclosure to stubborn

:- -
atlcence. Having successfully talked himself into existence

a
nu into a position of authority through the penning of

chaDters one through three, the rupture of the narrative flow

in the fourth tratado appears incongruous with what preceded

lt - Knowing what we do about Lazaro and his ability to
E"3Eak, we may suspect that his silence here is not his own.
the structure of the narrator's

In the fourth tratado,
The

diScourse is drastically altered as we have noted above.

92

Exclusions of the first three tratados, such as: "contare

algunas de muchas" and "y por evitar prolijidad" and the
Situational silences that we have already discussed are
relatively innocent with regard to their effect on the text,
and serve more to define the character than to affect the

narrative act. The narrator chooses specific episodes

care'fully in order to either acquire something or to make a

and

good impression on a character or on the reader,

exclLisions are used simply for the sake of textual economy.

As We have established, within the limitations of each chosen

me"nor-y, Lazaro goes out of his way to disclose as much
in":Dr-mation as possible to the reader about the events of his

life - Although excluded from some stories (because the

narrator chooses to tell only a carefully selected few), the

reader is never completely denied access to information about

the narrator's life. In other words, even though Lazaro is

Edi ting, he still provides the reader with information about
his experiences and includes the latter in his reminiscences.
In the fourth tratado, the "simple" silences of the first

three chapters are replaced by a conspicuous narrative

51 1 ence that excludes the reader from Lazarillo's experiences

with the fraile de la Merced. After explaining the secular

activities of the monk and his constant "andar fuera," Lazaro

s1""!ply states: "...por esto, y por otras cosillas que no

d190, sali del" (emphasis mine 96). The narrator chooses not

t5 divulge this information to the reader, and it is at this

pDint in the text that the boy, who had nothing to hide,

becomes an untrustworthy, reticent narrator. Whereas before

93
L«ézaro went to great lengths to make sure that we remained

informed (the incident in chapter two when he was

for example), he now offers no alternatives or

Uncon sc ious ,
halp to the reader, he simply refuses to expound upon the
matter. Mancing describes how Lazaro's silence in this

chapter (and the fifth and sixth as well) allows him to hide

from the reader, a behaviour that greatly contrasts with his

Previous openness toward both reader and text: "Whereas

L'E'zal"illo has up until this time occupied stage center, he

now steps behind a curtain, hiding himself from the reader"

("Deceptiveness" 428). Critics such as Carey view the

narrator's refusal to speak about the "otras cosillas" for
which he chose to leave the monk's service as a deferfé}
agallhst self-incrimination, the assumption being that
Sc7""“e‘thing illicit occurred during his time with this master
that the narrator prefers not share because of the
potehtially incriminating effect it might have on him.9 The
problem that arises from such an assumption, that silence is
a WQGpon against self-incrimination, is that it is completely
inc‘Dhsistent with what we already know about the narrator's

ity to deal with difficult situations such as this. We

abi 1
haVQ learned from the first few chapters that Lazarillo has
thé ability to lie in order to be perceived in a positive
1isnht, and so why does not he alter the truth in mg; four
and continue to build the image of the victimized boy that he
had so vigorously established in the first three chapters?

There is literally an undoing of the portrait that Lazaro had

drawn of himself as a compliant and loquacious narrator.

94
Furthermore, his‘silence here is far more incriminating than

any event that could have occurred in his experiencing life,

Without the

as it immediately puts the reader on guard.

reader's trust, Lazaro will loose both his narrative

integrity and his control over the text. In my opinion, this

mg; represents the most puzzling inconsistency in the
book , in that we know that the narrator is conscious of his

abi 1 ity to manipulate his stories in order to convey a

positive image of himself to the reader, and yet in this

Chapter he chooses not to do so. Considering his realization

that disclosure is the means by which he can captivate the
r.93Cler's attention and draw him into the text, his reticence
at this key point in the narrative is curious. His silence

disCredits him and makes all of his previous claims of full

disc losure and reliability questionable. (The incongruity

be‘tlmeen his narrative skills and his failure to use them here

DD~il‘tts to the possiblity that his silence may not be his own

may instead be imposed upon him

but as we shall see shortly,

’
by the implied author who is ensuring that Lazaro does not

get too close to the reader and that his narratorial powers
be kept in check.

In the fifth tratado, silence is a tool of deception as

It was in the first three chapters, but this time it is not
“SEC! by the character to fool one of his masters, but is

i"stead employed by the narrator in order to deceive the

reader. Therefore, because of its use as a self-conscious

qEvice to manipulate our perception, it ought to be

Here, Lazarillo is portrayed

cDnsidered a narrative silence.

95

as an innocent observer of a scam involving his master, the

PLdeLg, and the e_l_qg_eg_i_l. He is careful to remind us that

he was not privy to the dealings between the two men until

the end of the incident and that he was as deceived by them

as the people of the town were. In accordance with a very

carefully constructed narrative plan, Lazaro makes sure to
r'epeatedly stress his ignorance of the trick with the papal

bul 1s in order to establish an image of himself as an

innDcent child who is misled by the two conniving men. When

examined from the perspective of the narrator and not the

tiny , however, it is possible to demonstrate that Lazaro,

through narrative silence, is the true deceiver in this

ePisode. While the buldero and the alguacil are tricking the

to“'I‘Hspeople at the level of experience, Lazaro is deceiving

the reader at a textual level. Lazaro does not inform the

reader that the episode of the papal bulls is a premeditated

act until the end of the story. By remaining silent until

thé conclusion of the episode, he dupes the reader in the

tex t as he was duped in life. Fully aware of the outcome

befibre he puts pen to paper, he purposely withholds that
1h":tbrmation from the reader thus making the latter experience

thg events as the boy did, misleading him as he had

phéviously been misled. When the fifth chapter is read in

this light, the aside uttered by Lazaro about the trickery of
the two men becomes particularly ironic: "icuAntas destas

tieben de hacer estos burladores entre la inocente gente!"

(102). It is ironic because the narrator has just deceived

US, the innocent readers, on a textual level, in the same way

96
that the two men had deceived him in his experiencing life
when he was still an innocent child. The use of silence here
when retelling the story is self-conscious and manipulative,
and it again puts the narrator's reliability into question.
Once the reader recognizes this textual manipulation of point
of view through the use of silence, it renders Lazaro's
original picture of himself as the innocent child obsolete.
He is obviously no longer the naive boy of the first three
chapters, but a deceitful young adult who purposely puts the
reader at a disadvantage and places himself in a position of
superiority in the text.

The sixth tratado is similar to the fourth with regard
to its length and lack of information. Silence in this
chapter is overtly conspicuous because of the marked absence
of the written word. For instance, we are told nothing about
the first master of this chapter, the maestro de gintar
ganderos, and the few words that are uttered are puzzling and
are not clearly explained: "Después desto, asente con un
maestro de pintar panderos, para molelle los colores y
tambien sufri mil males" (103).° The "sufri mil males,” which
in previous chapters may have elicited a sympathetic response
from the reader, is here no longer believable because of the
absence of an adequate context on which to base the validity
of the emotional remark. His silence regarding the
cicumstances of his service to the maestro makes it difficult
to take his claims of suffering seriously. After Lazaro
leaves this master he then becomes a water carrier who earns

enough money to buy himself a set of used clothes:

97
Fueme tan bien en el oficio que al cabo de cuatro
afios que lo use, con poner en la ganancia buen
recaudo, ahorre para me vestir muy honradamente de
la ropa vieja. De la cual compre un jubOn de
fustan viejo, y un sayo raido de manga tranzada y
puerta, y una capa que habia sido frisada, y una
espada de las viejas primeras de Cuellar. (103)
It is clear from his preoccupation with his physical
appearance and the emotional emptiness of his "sufri mil
males" earlier in the chapter, that the character has changed
to the point where we no longer know what he feels, instead
we only know what he wears. The emotional Lazarillo of the
first three chapters has been subverted and silenced by the
listless and materialistic Lazaro whose actions are
mechanical and forced and whose discourse communicates very
little meaningful information to the reader.

The first three chapters allowed the narrator to build
up a positive image of himself through his compliant nature
and detailed stories. The reader was included in every
episode narrated and was privy to the character’s thoughts
and emotions. Just as these chapters helped to build up a
positive image of the character, the subsequent chapters
serve to dismantle that image. The narrator, no longer
compliant, now purposely withholds information in order to
manipulate the text and the reader‘s perception of it. There
is a distinct void in his adult personality that is made
apparent through his silence and unwillingness to divulge
information not only about his inner self, but also about the
other characters. Mancing sums up how chapters four through

six present us with a completely different protagonist than

we had seen previously: "...access is no longer permitted to

98
the protagonist's innermost feelings and thoughts...The
result of these three brief chapters is to disengage
Lazarillo both from his previous existence and from the
reader's sympathy“ ("Deceptiveness" 429). The silencing of
the emotional component of Lazaro's personality can be

described in terms of a progressive interiorization7 of the

character. The fourth chapter marks the beginning of this
process of turning inward which denies the reader access to
the narrator's thoughts and emotions. The primary indicators
through which the narrator expressed himself emotionally, the
asides, also disappear after the third tratado,a leaving an
emotional silence thereafter that will not be reversed.

As we enter into the seventh chapter, the antithetical
components of the first group of chapters (1-3) and the
second group (4-6), which represent a speech-silence
dichotomy, become fused together to produce a unique
dialectic between the two. This chapter presents us with a
‘ silence that speaks. The circumstances leading up to this
enigmatic silence are the following: Lazaro becomes a
gregonero in the employ of the Archpriest of Salvador and he
marries a woman who is one of his master's maids. Although
he is initially content with his job and with married life,
his happiness is disrupted by rumours in the town that his
wife and the Archpriest are having an illicit affair. Lazaro
confronts his wife who puts on such a display that he
promises never to bring the subject up again: "Mas yo de un
cabo...con juramento, que le hice, de nunca mas en mi vida

mentalle nada de aquello" (105). Swearing himself to

99
silence, Lazaro thus allows the affair, and therefore the
cuckolding, to continue. This gives us the impression that
in Lazaro's opinion what he does not say cannot hurt him.
Promising not to discuss the affair in front of his wife is
not enough for Lazaro to preserve the peace at home, however.
He also has to silence the gossips who threaten that peace,
his marriage and therefore his job security as well.
Whenever a neighbour broaches the subject with him, Lazaro
simply says: "Mira, si sois mi amigo, no me digais cosa con
que me pese, que no tengo por mi amigo al que me hace pesar"
(emphasis mine 106). In his experiencing life, silence is
once again used to acquire something in this last chapter.
It does not provide him with food or sympathy, it instead
allows him to achieve peace: "Desta manera no me dicen nada,
y yo tengo paz en mi casa" (emphasis mine 106).

The promise of silence to his wife and his insistence on
the town's silence allow Lazaro to live in ignorant bliss.
The ironic part of his silence, however, is that as he tries
to explain to his reader why silence is so important, he
carelessly exposes all that he was initially so intent upon
concealing. Edward Friedman further explains how Lazaro's
use of silence in this tratado reveals the truth about his
situation: "...the narration stresses the importance of
silence--the need to act hypocritically in a hypocritical
society--while the narrative act breaks the silence and
threatens to expose the real story behind the defensive
rhetoric" (Antiheroine 16). Silence does present itself as

"defensive rhetoric” in this chapter, but it is Lazaro's

100
over-defensiveness (through his insistence on silence) that
reveals to the townspeople that there is probably some truth
to the rumours that they have been spreading.

There is something else thought provoking about Lazaro's
use of a silence that speaks in this chapter. We have noted
before that he is a self-conscious narrator who knows how to
manipulate speech and silence in order to achieve a positive
end and yet here again he does not choose to do so.

Moreover, he appears ignorant to the fact that he is exposing
a truth instead of hiding one as he claims to be doing. He
essentially betrays the silence that he had built up and
maintained in chapters four through six by speaking here.’ In
the same vein as the question that was posed after a
discussion of Lazaro's reticence in chapter four: why does
not Lazaro lie in order to continue portraying himself in a
positive light? In this case, why does not he simply remain
silent (as he did in chapters four through six) and preserve
what little is left of his integrity as a narrator?

Regarding the inconsistency of Lazaro's disclosure in chapter
seven Friedman says: "For some reason, he seems determined to
say more than he has to" (Antiheroine 26). Why would a
character who knows how to remain silent when it behooves him
to do so, choose to speak at this juncture so extensively
about something that is clearly incriminating? This question
will be answered shortly after the present examination of
silence in the text itself has been completed.

The prologue, although the first piece of text that we

are exposed to, will be considered last because the

101
personality of the narrator is more in tune with the Lazaro
of the seventh tratado than with the Lazarillo of the first,
and as Gilman has rightly noted, it functions more like "an
epilogue--post mortem" (153). The prologue can be divided
into two parts and "The point of transmission between the two
divisions...is the Ciceronian adage that honor fosters the
arts, followed by anecdotal references to man's desire for
praise" (Friedman, Antiheroine 29). The first part of the
prologue reflects the voice of the author who speaks through
the narrator's words; it is therefore a type of voicing-over
whereby the narrator is really silent while his author speaks
through him: "In the first half of the prologue...Lazaro--
initiating his prefatory remarks with the narrative ‘I'--
speaks not for himself but for the other author" (Antiheroine
28). The second half of the prologue, on the other hand, can
be assigned to the adult narrator, Lazaro, as Friedman
explains: "The ‘yo' becomes the textual Lazaro in the last
two paragraphs of the prologue, in which the case becomes the
focal point" (Antiheroine 29). This division is important
with regard to resolving some of the inconsistencies that we
noted in the introductory remarks of this chapter. The
contradictions regarding the nature of the account and the
intended readership of the fictional response can now be
explained by the presence of two voices in the narrator's
discourse: his own and that of the implied author.
Therefore, the narrator's geegigeige is xgee££e_meggeg_and
the author's is the general reading public. Similarly,

remarks about the response in the form of a letter belong to

102
the narrator and those which discuss it in terms of a book
belong to the author. Another distinction between the two
voices involves their opposing strategies for communicating
information about the case; one of them stressing silence and
the other speech. Friedman elaborates on the silence-speech
dichotomy of the prologue as follows:
The first part of the prologue concerns itself with
public reaction to an exercise in self-defense.
Virtually every element of this section contradicts
Lazaro's strategy for reporting the case. The
narrator, who will later stress the importance of
silence in his life, opens with the hope that his
work will be read (or heard) by many...Not only is
there an emphasis on speech rather than silence,
but there is also an emphasis on multiple
participants in the interpretative process.
(Antiheroine 28-9)
The opposing views of the implied author and the narrator as
to how and to whom an account of the caso should be written
sets up a potentially antagonistic or tense relationship
between the two, and it suggests that if the implied author
is present in the narrator's discourse in the very beginning,
he is probably present throughout the narrative in a variety
of different guises. As we shall see shortly, the implied
author intrudes upon the narrator's account in order to
undermine his silence and his narrative authority in the
text.

As we mentioned in the second chapter of this
dissertation, there are several markers through which the
implied author's presence in the text can be surmised. First
of all, when a character speaks and it does not behoove him

to do so, or conversely is silent when it would be to his

advantage to speak. Secondly, his intrusion should be

103
suspected when the character blatantly contradicts or
incriminates himself. Third, when a narrator is overly
omniscient and describes events that he could not have been a
party to. The first two of these markers are especially
apparent in gegerillo_geiTormee. For instance, chapters four
and six present us with a narrator who uses silences when it
would be better for him to disclose information, and chapter
seven is an example of the opposite, a case in which it would
behoove him to remain silent. In order to understand how
these intrusions affect Lazaro's discourse we must look at
the text as a whole to examine the changes that occur both in
the narrator's personality and in his narrative strategies.
The first three chapters introduce us to a narrator who
discloses information to the reader, providing us with a
detailed account of his life. In the fourth chapter, there
is a dramatic change in his personality. No longer the
compliant storyteller, he is now the reticent, manipulative,
unreliable narrator. These are traits that also characterize
him in chapters five and six. In the seventh he seems to be
an empty shell19 that discloses information against his best
interest and with a marked lack of emotion. As we can
recall, in the second part of the prologue, he examines the
text only in terms of fiction, from the outside looking in,
as though the story of his own life is something from which
he is detached. Finally, in the first part of the prologue,
Lazaro disappears and in his place is the authorial voice
that speaks through the skeletal frame that was formerly our

narrator. By specifically reexamining the text from chapter

104

one through the beginning of the prologue, as we have just
done above, it is possible to see that the narrator is
progressively silenced during the course of his story. From
a lack of overt authorial intrusions in the first three
chapters, the narrator becomes increasingly voiced-over in
chapters four through seven to the point where he becomes
nothing more than a rhetorical device in the prologue.u
Therefore, the skilled narrator who initially took control of
the text is gradually subverted by the implied author who not
only silences him and robs him of his textual authority, but
in the process discredits him in front of the reader by
making him look manipulative and unreliable. Frenk Alatorre
explains the gradual silencing of the narrator throughout the
text as follows: "...el narrador, olvidado de si mismo, se
hace transparente, desaparece...Estos distintos grados de
visibilidad del narrador, desde la presencia total hasta la
(aparente) ausencia total" (202). The narrator never
completely disappears, however, because even though he
appears to have no voice of his own in the first part of the
prologue, he is still the mouthpiece through which the author
speaks. Conversely, his complete presence is just as
unlikely because of the constant presence of the implied
author. Even though parts of Lazaro's discourse appear
untainted by authorial intrusions, they are still present.
The implied author is simply not as visible at these times as
at others.

The various levels of visibility of the author and the

narrator brings up the question of which one of them (if

105
either) is in narrative control of the text. At first it
appears as though Lazaro is in control for the following
reasons: First,/the anonymity and absence of the real author
allows the narrator to be the only source of information and
therefore he appears to be in a particularly powerful
narrating position. Second, the sparse authorial intrusions
in the first three chapters give Lazaro apparent free reign,
and therefore control, over the direction that the text will
take. Third, Lazaro, who throughout the text appears unaware
of any authorial intrusions, helps to build up the illusion
of his textual control because he clearly considers himself
to be the only author of his text. His initial narrative
power is short lived, however, as the illusion of authorial
control that was established by an obviously skilled narrator
in chapters one through three, is subsequently demolished in
the ensuing four chapters by the progressive intrusion of the
implied author in his discourse who works to purposely
undermine Lazaro's textual authority.

Lazaro's initial control is not only apparent in the
eager way that he tells his stories in the first three
chapters. It is also made clear in some of his other
narrative strategies, a couple of which we have already
discussed: his skillful manipulation of the experiencing and
narrating "I", and his detailed accounts of all incidents in
tratados one through three. Another narrative strategy that
demonstrates his skill as a narrator and his initial control
over the text is his portrayal of vuestra merced. The

identity of this person remains a mystery throughout the

106
text. All that we know about him is that he is someone of
considerable authority in the community and a friend of the
Archpriest of Salvador. Vuestra merced exerts his authority
over Lazaro in his initial request for an account of the
case. He is obviously someone of import because Lazaro feels
obliged to comply with the request. Just as vuestra merced
exerts authority over Lazaro in his experiencing life, so
Lazaro here reverses the roles to exert his own kind of
authority over vuestra merced on a textual level. Lazaro
marginalizes him by not allowing him to speak directly and by
not including his letter in the text. The withholding of the
original petition can be seen as a presumptuous show of force
by the narrator who does not even allow vuestra merced to
communicate indirectly with the reader through the letter.
The petitioner is thereby completely denied access to the
text as a dynamic character. Thus, it follows that vuestra
merced is really silent from the beginning and any
information that we have about him is first filtered through
Lazaro. Peter Dunn notes the following with regard to the
illusiveness of the fictional destinaire:
...we can search in vain within the narrative for
that invisible eminence, Vuestra Merced...If
Vuestra Merced can claim to exercise some authority
in his life, Lazaro will respond by reserving for
himself an absolute authority in the representation
of his life, will banish his interrogator to the
margin of his story, and will condemn him to
anonymity. In his autobiographical narrative,
Lazaro succeeds in denying authority to Vuestra
Merced, and does so silently. (emphasis mine,
"Purloined" 7)

Therefore, he is silent throughout the text because Lazaro

never permits him to enter it as a dynamic character. He is

 

107
simply a name, a purely textual device that can be
manipulated and controlled by a narrator who wishes to exert
his new found textual authority over his societal superior.
To take Dunn's ideas above one step further, however, we
also have to consider how the implied author's presence in
Lazaro's discourse enters into explaining the relationship
between vuestra merced and the narrator. An interesting
comparison can be made between the struggle for authority
between vuestra merced and Lazaro at a societal-textual level
and Lazaro and the implied author at a metatextual level.
Frenk Alatorre points out the limitations that are placed on
the narrator’s control by the author as follows:
...el autor sabia muy bien lo que hacia. Invento a
un narrador y le cedio la palabra; lo dejo
intervenir en el relato con su propia personalidad
de hombre y de escritor y aun 1e permitio excederse
de vez en cuando en sus atribuciones. Sin embargo,
no le dio poderes absolutos; se reservo la
posibilidad de utilizarlo para sus propios fines de
escritor, poniendolo en escena cuando convenia a la
configuracidn del relato y haciendolo invisible
cada vez que su presencia pudiera dificultar la
necesaria intimidad entre el libro y el lector.
(217)
While Lazaro uses the written word to subvert and silence
vuestra merced, the presence of the implied author similarly
works within Lazaro's discourse to keep his authority in
check. Just as Dunn believes that the subversion of
authority is undertaken silently in the text by Lazaro
through his skill as a writer, so the implied author works
silently to make sure that Lézaro does not achieve absolute

authority by manipulating his discourse from within.

Therefore, Carey is correct when he says: "Lazaro, according

108
to his own testimony, has momentarily succeeded in
transforming his role: no longer a victim of authorities, he
has become a manipulator of others in his own right" ("Ouest"
37-8). Lazaro is no longer the victim of one authority,
vuestra merced, and he has managed to become a manipulator of

others, but in the process, he has also become the victim of

another more powerful authority, the implied author.
Therefore, silence can work both to Lazaro's advantage and to
his disadvantage in the text because, just as he can use
silence to subvert authority, so the implied author can
reverse the roles and use silence to the same end, to subvert
the textual authority and integrity of the narrator.

It would be a mistake, however, to assume that the
implied author completely subverts and silences the narrator,
because the narrative act itself denies him the possibility
of doing so. Absolute authority is denied both the narrator

and the author in Lazarillo de Tormes because it is a

 

narrative impossibility. Control over the text is
necessarily shared by a composite of narrative voices that
functions as a complex dialectic. As we have already
mentioned, the author is always present in the narrator's
discourse just as the narrator is always present when the
author wishes to speak:12 they are just more visible at some
times than at others. Therefore, neither one of them can
completely take charge of the text because the "other" will
always impede that from happening, and conversely, neither of
them can be completely silenced or subverted.

In spite of the fact that neither one of them can have

109
absolute authority in the text, they both continue to assert
themselves through the written word. Therefore, the text
itself can be seen as a kind of struggle for control and
supremacy. Carey explains this struggle in terms of an
ongoing tension throughout the text: "The implied tension
between the fictional and real authors, both of whom are
engaged in a form of verbal mediation, impels a consideration
of the narrative process itself and its dual function of
disclosure and concealment" ("Ouest" 41). The dialectic
between silence and speech in Eegerillo de Tormee is what
allows the tension between the two voices to be identified in
the text. Without the imposed silences, there would be no
struggle.‘ Therefore, its presence and use as a means of
narrative subversion by narrator and author alike is what
establishes the tension which, on a narrative level, becomes
a defining factor of the text.

As we reach the novel's conclusion we can see that
certain mysteries remain unresolved. We still do not really
know what the eeeg_is, who vuestra merced is, or why he is
requesting an account of the geeg in the first place. In
this way the text itself can be said to speak while remaining
silent, having disclosed information, but not that
information initially promised. In the same manner that none
of these textual questions are answered in the course of the
narrative, the tension or struggle between narrator and
author is similarly left unresolved. It is unresolved
because, as we have already noted, it is impossible for

either voice to completely subvert the other. Therefore, the

110
tension becomes the final result, a kind of narrative
stalemate where neither party can win. In this way, the
tension must itself be seen as one of the text's messages,
and the other unresolved aspects of the narrative simply
reflect that inability to answer questions and resolve
tensions.

Silence is an essential tool in gegerilloede Tormee that
is manipulated on an experiencing, textual and metatextual
level by a variety of narrative voices as a means to some
very specific ends. Without an examination of background
silence, the character's skills at deceiving people would not
be so apparent, and without a discussion of narrative
silence, the presence of the implied author would be
difficult to surmise. Furthermore, it is by recognizing how
silence can be used as a tool of narrative subversion that
the struggle for textual authority between the narrator and
the implied author can be identified. The picaro, although
subverted in the text, is not completely silenced by the
implied author. Moreover, he becomes a worthy opponent for
his textual nemesis, whose attempts at claiming authority for
himself are as dashed by the presence of the picaro as the

picaro's attempts at controlling the text are dashed by him.

111

Notes

~1Almost every critic who writes on Lazarillo de Tormee
discusses the mysterious caso to some extent, and therefore,
in the interests of brevity I will only mention the works of
two critics whose opinions about the case mirror my own in
that they consider it to be an unexplained and unexplainable
mystery in the text. Friedman says that "...two mysteries of
the prologue, the identity of Vuestra Merced and the details
of the case, remain elusive in a text supposedly built around
clarification. The problem may ultimately be a key to the
solution" (Antiheroine 20), and Dunn similarly states: "The
nature of the caso is another unanswerable question, one more
gap in the text that positivist criticism has been at pains
to fill" ("Purloined“ 6).

2This particular view, that the case deals with the
relationship between Lazaro, his wife and the Archpriest is
held by Francisco Rico who states that: "No otro es el caso:
las hablillas que corren por la ciudad sobre el equivoco
trio, la sospecha de un manage a trois complacientemente
tolerado por Lazaro" (Punto 24).

3Carey explains how through the writing of the text,
Lazaro can achieve some specific ends. First, "Through
writing, Lazaro tries to convert his losses (orphanhood,
naivete, dishonor) into gains (self-creation, knowledge,
esteem). Secondly, "By means of art Lazaro transforms his
own unexemplary existence into something more." He thereby
manages to assert himself through the text, something that
was denied him in society. Lazaro also sees the act of
writing as a means through which he can be in a position of
authority: "...he attempts...to gain power through the
literary tradition, to become a creator in a society where
transcendence is lacking and the divine has no positive
function or place" ("Guest" 40). Carey believes that Lazaro
is successful at acquiring a degree of authority through the
penning of the text, and he also believes that the author
supports his character's control.

“With regard to the number of asides in Lazarillo de
Tormes, Carey states: "In the strictest sense only thirteen
are introduced with such standard wording as ‘dixe entre mi,’
‘dezia yo passo entre mi,’ or ‘dixe passo, que no me oyb"
("Asides" 119 footnote).

aShipley sees Lazaro's reticence as a form of defence
against incrimination: "The danger to Lazaro of self-
incrimination is lessened by the narrator's reticence"
("Resting" 107). Similarly, Carey stresses the fact that

112

Lazaro may have something to hide and that silence is his
most effective tool for concealing a potentially damaging
truth: "The experiencing I in the main portion of the novel
is enveloped in silence, since to speak at all, from
Lazarillo's perspective means to admit one's guilt. Desire
without power says nothing, for it imagines that its most
effective weapon lies in inarticulateness" ("Guest" 41).

6Shipley does an excellent job of identifying some of
the meanings behind the episode of the maestro de pinte;
ganderos in his "A Case of Functional Obscurity: The Master
Tambourine-Painter of Lazarillo, ‘Tratado' VI."

7De Long-Tonelli describes the gradual interiorization
of Lazaro in the later chapters as follows: "El narrador
mismo ha ido interiorizando y guardando para si sus propios
juicios y reacciones protegiendolos con el estilo compromido
de los ultimos tratados. La brevedad y aceleracidn de esos
ultimos tratados corresponde a la interiorizacidn del
narrador, el cual se ha dado cuenta de que su personalidad
puede sobrevivir splo gracias a un compromiso de
realidad...Si el escudero moria en el mundo por no
comprometer su honor personal, Lazaro vivia en ese mismo
mundo encerrando su intimidad en su propia personalidad. Ha
llegado a la mas absoluta soledad, en que se niega a
revelarse a otro ser humano" (388-9).

°Carey believes that the character's silence, after
having shared his most intimate thoughts and fears with the
reader through the asides, reflects his: "realization of the
tragedy of his life, a realization too painful to be
formulated in any words, even an aside" ("Asides" 131).
Although Carey's is a reasonable assumption, I have
understood the character's silence more in terms of a
subversive act imposed upon him by the implied author than a
response to the tragedy of his life. Furthermore, the
portion of the text where the waning of the asides begins,
chapter four, does not reflect a particularly tragic period
in the narrator's life, at least not so tragic as to warrant
his abrupt silence. Indeed, as the story progresses, the
character appears pleased with what little advances he has
made in life.

’Friedman explains that when Lazaro's words betray him,
it can point to the presence of the implied author who
manipulates his discourse from within: "Considered from the
perspective of authorial control, Lazaro's discourse seems to
form part of an ironic system of self-betrayal. His
unconscious associations and revelations confirm a conscious
selection by the author" (Antiheroine 29).

19Another indication that Lazaro is simply an empty
shell in the seventh tratado has to do with his job as a
gregonero. In this position he demonstrates his propensity
for speaking, not about himself, but about others' crimes.

113

The narrator becomes the mouthpiece for the city and its
people. In this tratado he is no longer a character in the
living, experiencing sense, he is rather a device that speaks
but does not communicate meaningful information about himself
or the case to the reader.

11When discussing the prologue, Gilman says the
following about Lazaro: "As a writer of prologues, he is a
mere literary device” (150).

12Gilman hints at the possibility that Lazaro may be a
composite narrative voice (representing both his own voice
and that of the implied author...and perhaps others) when he
says: "In Lazarillo de Tormee, character creation...is not
the mysterious emergence of another person from the self, but
rather an equally mysterious fusion of selves“ (152).

Chapter Four
Repentance and Vengeance: A Study of Silence in
Guzman de Alfarache
Considering the loquacious nature of the narrator in

Mateo Aleman's Guzmen de Alfarache, the text might, at first
glance, appear an unlikely candidate for a study on silence.
Despite its length, however, the Guzman is filled with
enigmatic silences that complicate and yet enhance its
reading. In some ways the silences can be said to actually
contribute to the length of the book in that Guzman's
consistent silencing of the main point of the narrative, the
conversion, allows him to develop a myriad of other stories
and anecdotes that both detract the reader's attention away
from the proposed pretext and at the same time add bulk to
the novel. Some of the aspects of silence that will be
considered in this chapter are the following: First we will
examine how the use of digressions serves as a means of
silencing information about the potentially unreformed nature
of the narrator. Second, the character's lack of remorse and
failure to include moralizing sermons at certain key points
in the text will be seen to represent another kind of silence
that also undermines Guzman's claims of repentance. Third,
we will discuss how Guzman, with the help of his implied
author manages to progressively silence his literary double,
Sayavedra, in a brilliantly enacted fictional exorcism that
in its entirety is also meant to silence the author and text

of the apocryphal part two. Next, the interpolated stories

114

115
will be examined in terms of their use of silence as a tool
of deception, and we will see how each tale forms an integral
part of the narrative whole through the silent presence of
the self-marginalized Guzman. Finally, Guzman's creation of
a hypothetical reader who he attempts to subvert and silence
will be addressed to demonstrate that the narrator is
manipulating the text throughout.

A good point of departure would be to consider a basic
similarity between the Lazarillo and the Guzman with regard
to the use of silence to defer meaning. Just as in Lazarillo
de Tormes the ge§g_is never sufficiently or clearly explained
to the reader, so in the Guzman, the narrator's conversion,
which is the supposed reason for the composition of the text,
is never substantiated. This fact has led to a vast
collection of critical studies which debate the falseness or
veracity of Guzman's repentance. The studies range in scope
from those that support the doctrinal nature of the text
(Moreno Baez, A. A. Parker), to those that refute its
religious foundation (Brancaforte, Gonzalo Sobejano and
Whitenack), to those that do not side one way or the other,
but instead concentrate on the importance of the conversion
on the development of the narrative itself (Friedman). This
chapter will examine the issue from Friedman's point of view,
in that the intention will not be to prove whether the
conversion is a religious act or not, but to point out that
the narrator's use of silence at key points in the text
greatly complicates the question of the sincerity of his

repentance.

116
Another important similarity between the Lazarillo and
the Guzman that bears mentioning is the division of narrative
point of view and the use of memory in recounting the
stories. Guzman narrates his life story from the galleys
where he is serving a life sentence. The conversion that he

experienced while onboard, although one of the final
incidents in the text, is in fact the point of departure for
the entire narrative structure. As Joan Arias summarizes:
"The narrator is not the gicaro; he is the reformed
Christian...The conversion is not a terminal point, but a
beginning...it represents the main reason for writing...We do
not reach the conversion or the convert: they are always
there" (47). It is essential to remember this fact
throughout the novel because it demands that we view the
narrator as a convert from the beginning, and therefore his
behaviour throughout the text should reflect his newly found
spirituality.

Not only is the conversion the starting point for
Guzman‘s narrative, however, it is also represents an ending
that severely limits our perspective of the text. As
Friedman explains, without the knowledge of post-conversion
events we only have the "reformed” Guzman's word as to the
believability of his repentance:

Guzman's narrative ”life" ends not at the moment of
the conversion but at the end of the composition of
the text. The "new" Guzman writes his
autobiography following his transformation, in a
"future" that does not make its way into the action
of the work...Since there are no narrative events
beyond the conversion...the reader must rely on the

honesty of the transformed Guzman. (Angiheroine
47)

117

As we can see from the quote above, the text presents us with
a very specific and limited perspective that Guzman can
manipulate and control. For instance, when the character's
behaviour does not reflect that of a reformed man, Guzman can
easily justify himself by stressing that his actions preceded
his conversion. How well he maintains the illusion of
conversion depends on how skillfully he can manipulate
temporal point of view. Another important point that can be
raised about the silencing of future time in the narrator's
tale, is that it indicates his potential reluctance to
substantiate the conversion with proof beyond the act itself.
In other words, his reticence points to the fact that he may
still have something to hide. The narrator's use of silence
in the text often belies his claims to repentance and exposes
a set of inconsistencies in the narrative plan that may
expose the truth behind his words.

The other aspect of point of view that should be
discussed briefly is the division between the adult narrator
and the experiencing child. Guzman is not as successful as
Lazaro at separating his experiencing and narrating selves in
order to maintain an illusion of authority in the text. The
reader could trace a progression from the innocence of the
protagonist to the corruption of the narrator in Lazarillo de
Tormes, which is not the case in the Guzman where the adult
narrator and the experiencing child are often
indistinguishable from one another: "More often than

not...the older narrator infiltrates the narration so

118
completely that we do not see the reactions of Guzmanillo”
(Imgertinent 66). Guzmanillo is silent throughout the text
and is simply a narrative device used by the adult narrator
in order to give the appearance of separating past mistakes
from present reform. He is rarely successful at making this
distinction, however, and more often than not the adult
applauds the wiliness of the child instead of reprimanding
him. As Carroll Johnson points out: ”...there should be a
radical difference between the ethical perspective of the
narrator and that of the protagonist...value judgements of
the reformed Guzman galley slave are strikingly coincidental
to those of the unregenerate Guzmanillo picaro" (Inside 45).
In the ensuing discussion we will see how Guzman's failure to
make an adequate distinction between his present and former
selves will affect the credibility of his conversion.

One way in which Guzman attempts to build up the
illusion of being a reformed man is by fleetingly mentioning
his guilt in incriminating situations, but then instead of
reprimanding himself, demonstrates how a similar action done
by another person or involving a different situation is more
reprehensible than his own. Arias points out this technique
of deference when she says: "Guzman criticizes others for
thier vanities, and forgets his own” (56). This allows
Guzman's to distance himself from his guilt under the guise
of reprimanding himself through others. By turning attention
to the more heinous crimes of other people, his own petty
thievery often appears insignificant. Another way in which

he minimizes his guilt is by claiming to only be following

119
suit with the rest of the corrupt people in society: "Todos
jugaban y juraban, todos robaban y sisaban: hice lo que los
otros" (I, 303). By blaming other people and his
surroundings for his actions: "...los malos amigos me
perdieron dulcemente... Perdime con las malas compafiias...La
ociosidad ayudo gran parte y aun fue la causa de todos mis
dafios” (I, 305), Guzman manages to transfer guilt on to
others and therefore successfully silence his own.

An example of one of Guzman's fleeting references to his
guilt which is quickly dismissed through silence involves an
incident that occurs during his service with the cook. The
narrator dodges around the fact that he has been stealing
from his master by saying: "Mas por algunos descuidos mios y
cosas que traslucian se escaldo mi amo algo comigo: andabame
a las espuelas para cogerme" (emphasis mine I, 306). Even
though he hints at his culpability here, by remaining silent
about the nature of the "descuidos" and "cosas" which so
upset his master, Guzman manages to quickly dismiss them from
the reader's critical attention. He instead turns to a
discussion of his master's crimes, explaining that his own
indiscretions were petty compared with those of the cook and
should therefore be forgiven and dismissed. In this way
Guzman manages to minimalize his own involvement in evil acts
by stating that someone else is more at fault than he. As
Arias observes: ”When Guzman stole, he generalized that sin
so the blame could not fall so harshly on the
individual...The sin is made so common that Guzman's

geccadillos are minimized, and the sinners extend so high on

120
the social scale that the youth's misdeeds seem petty" (84).
Ultimately, Guzman removes himself so far from our field of
vision that his reprehensible actions are easily displaced
and therefore forgotten.
Another means by which Guzman silences himself and

therefore his guilt is through the use of moralizing sermons

and digressions. Initially these stories appear individually
to be an attempt by the narrator to give credence to his
reformed nature, but when seen as a whole, the purpose of the
digressions is really to do just that, to digress and to
defer attention away from one thing to instead focus on
another. We have already noted how Guzman will blame others
in order to distract attention away from his own guilt, and
his use of digressions is simply another example of the same.
Through them he manages to distance himself from the
immediacy of the text and from the reader's critical focus.
By talking about other people and incidents, the narrator
takes us further and further away from his own story, burying
it under layers of tales which relate obliquely to the
protagonist's life, but which serve mainly to silence the
original point of the story. By withdrawing from the text
the narrator can fade into the background and avoid revealing
potentially incriminating information about himself and his
conversion.

There has been a great deal of critical debate over
whether or not the digressions are superfluous to the novel.
They cannot be considered unimportant or disjointed, however,

'because they share a common element with the textual whole,

121
and that is the presence of the narrator, Guzman. He is the
key that ties everything together and his use of digressions
can be considered a self-conscious device to convey something
specific to the reader. Although he is often not the focus
of many of them, he is still the one narrating the tales. He
manipulates digressions purposely in order to silence
information about himself and his life.

If we are to consider silence to be Guzman's primary
discursive goal, it would be helpful to back this theory up
with a textual example. At one point in his narrative when
he has become particularly carried away in a tangle of
digressions, he abruptly tells us that silence is a saintly
attribute, a comment that appears completely out of place
considering his previous loquacity. He says: "Ouiero callar
y no habra ley contra mi: mi secreto para mi, que al buen
callar llaman santo. Pues aun conozco mi exceso en lo
hablado, que mas es dotrina de predicacidn que de picaro" (I,
276). Upon closer scrutiny, however, this remark may not be
out of place at all if we consider the fact that the man who
has supposedly told us so much through his digressions, has
in reality told us very little about himself. Therefore when
Guzman talks about his "secreto" the reader should take note
because the character's life really has remained a secret
buried beneath the rubble of a seemingly interminable string
of digressions and sermons. Ironically (and yet
appropriately), after Guzman tells the reader that silence is
a saintly characteristic, he almost immediately turns to

another digression, which under the guise of communicating

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122
meaningful information really serves to add to Guzman's
"secreto" and to return him to his silent sanctuary beyond
the clutter of his digressive words. According to
Brancaforte, the narrator is aware of the contradictions that
may result from his constant digressions. The fact that

Guzman recognizes the effect that they have on the text

serves to affirm his control over the work and the self-
consciousness of his use of digressions to produce silence:
"El reconocimiento de la conexidn o falta de conexidn entre
la accidn novelistica y las partes discursivas sirve por un
lado para disipar la impresidn de que la novela sea desligada
o que se desparrame por todas las direcciones, y apunta a la
vez al control y la conciencia que tiene e1 autor de su
propia creacidn" (Conversidn 14). Without the narrator's
realization of, rationalization of and, in fact, ardent
defense of his digressions, the reader would perhaps pay less
attention to them and would turn back to Guzman's life story
for answers. With his insistence upon their value in the
text, however, the reader has no choice but to be distracted
by them. Besides, beyond the digressions there is really
very little for the reader to latch on to.

The question that comes to mind when considering the
function of the digressions is: why does Guzman feel the need
to distance and silence himself in the text? It would appear
that he generally feels the need to remain silent in the face
of his own guilt. A textual example of this occurs in the
service of the cook. When caught red handed stealing from

his master Guzman says: ”Parecidme mas acertado el

123
callar...Ouedé tan corrido, que no supe responderle...y sin
decir palabra me fui avergonzado: que es mas gloria huir de
los agravios callando que vencerlos respondiendo" (I, 315).
Finding himself in this awkward situation where he clearly
cannot deny his guilt, silence becomes the only possible
response. If silence is used here to communicate guilt, then
the use of digressions, which in turn leads us to the
narrator's silence, must also communicate a sense of guilt.
He appears to be hiding something from the reader, something
that is never clearly revealed in the text, but which points
to the distinct possibility that Guzman is guilty of not
being as genuine a convert as he initially portrays himself
as being.

Another use of silence in Guzmeh de Alfarache which
makes the issue of conversion questionable involves the
omission of moralizing sermons where one would expect them to
be. A few episodes will be mentioned in which Guzman commits
an unchristian or illegal act and then, instead of
reprimanding himself (which would be the appropriate
behaviour of a reformed man) is silent and instead takes
immense pride in his cunningness. Genevieve Ramirez notes
that frequently in the narrator's speech there is the:
"recognition of wrongdoing, but the appropriate moralization
denouncing such evils is conspicuously absent" (73).
Therefore, the narrator will mention that he has done wrong
but then does not apologize for his actions. Whitenack also
sees the absence of repentance in Guzman's words and actions

as deconstructing the edifice of reform that the narrator is

I")

123
callar...Ouedé tan corrido, que no supe responderle...y sin
decir palabra me fui avergonzado: que es mas gloria huir de
los agravios callando que vencerlos respondiendo" (I, 315).
Finding himself in this awkward situation where he clearly
cannot deny his guilt, silence becomes the only possible
response. If silence is used here to communicate guilt, then
the use of digressions, which in turn leads us to the
narrator's silence, must also communicate a sense of guilt.
He appears to be hiding something from the reader, something
that is never clearly revealed in the text, but which points
to the distinct possibility that Guzman is guilty of not
being as genuine a convert as he initially portrays himself
as being.

Another use of silence in Guzmen de Alfarache which
makes the issue of conversion questionable involves the
omission of moralizing sermons where one would expect them to
be. A few episodes will be mentioned in which Guzman commits
an unchristian or illegal act and then, instead of
reprimanding himself (which would be the appropriate
behaviour of a reformed man) is silent and instead takes
immense pride in his cunningness. Genevieve Ramirez notes
that frequently in the narrator's speech there is the:
"recognition of wrongdoing, but the appropriate moralization
denouncing such evils is conspicuously absent" (73).
Therefore, the narrator will mention that he has done wrong
but then does not apologize for his actions. Whitenack also
sees the absence of repentance in Guzman's words and actions

as deconstructing the edifice of reform that the narrator is

124
attempting to construct: "Guzman reveals a pattern of
systematic destruction, both of the sacrament itself and of
the concepts of contrition and repentance, which are
repeatedly ignored, dismissed or ridiculed" ("Destruction"
224). She then states that the "‘converted' narrator,
particularly one so prone to moralistic digression, should
intervene with corrective statements" ("Destruction" 225).
The narrator's silence when a moralizing sermon would clearly
be fitting again raises questions about the sincerity of his
act of contrition.

An example in which Guzman is silent in the face of a
reprehensible act involves the domine Nicolao. The events
leading up to the narrator's remorseless attitude are the
following: having been caught with his arm in the cardinal's
chest of preserves, Guzman is ordered to be lashed by the
secretary. After the punishment is carried out, Guzman feels
that Nicolao whipped him more than was necessary, and vows to
take vengeance on him. Feigning to help the secretary with a
persistent mosquito problem, Guzman prescribes a remedy that,
instead of repelling the insects, attracts them and makes
them attack the unsuspecting man leaving him in poor physical
condition. Guzman tells us with relish that the mosquitoes:
"le sacaban los ojos a tenazadas y le comian las narices" (I,
431). This image of the mosquitoes eating away at the
secretary's face is not followed by any words of remorse by
Guzman for the obvious physical harm he caused Nicolao. In
fact, Guzman appears quite happy that his plan is a complete

success. To make matters worse the episode is applauded by

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125
the cardinal who is amused by the cleverness of Guzman's
trick, and not shocked by his cruelty: "...monsefior...se
descompuso riendo de la burla que le hice" (I, 432). Guzman
justifies his vengeance to the cardinal by claiming that he
had every right to pay the secretary back considering the
excessive lashing he received: “El ddmine Nicolao me dio mas
de veinte por su cuenta, siendo los postreros los mas
crueles. Y asi vengue mis ronchas con las suyas" (I, 432).
What is forgotten here amidst the cardinal's amusement and
Guzman's unrepentant attitude is that Master Nicolao's
beating of Guzman was an ordered act no matter how excessive
it may have been, whereas the stimulus for Guzman's cruel
trick is his hate of the secretary. His only motive is
vengeance, and his silence upon harming the man greatly
undermines his claims of being a repentant man. As a result
of the lighthearted dismissal of the trick by the cardinal,
the original theft of the preserves, which was the reason for
the entire episode, is completely dismissed and silenced, and
instead the protagonist, who should have been punished, is
praised for his wit and cunning. Furthermore, Guzman not
only shows no remorse for his cruelty but he also appears to
take pleasure in his revenge against Nicolao. As Arias
notes: "...when he recounts the vengeance he later takes upon
the ddmine Nicolao in the Cardinal's service, he gives great
detail of the suffering he inflicts, savouring the memory,
and omitting moralization" (29). Guzman's lack of remorse
and his silence when he ought to have included a moral

statement reveal that the reformed narrator is a hypocrite

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126
whose words are inconsistent with his actions and whose
silence bespeaks his guilt and corrupt nature.
The next incident in which Guzman opts not to include
moralizing statements to repent for his evil ways occurs in
Milan where he pulls an ingenious scam on a merchant and then

feels extreme pride as a result. After the robbery Guzman

describes the merchant’s anguish with joy as he had done
previously with Nicolao:
Ni e1 tenia ya espiritu para hablar. Porque con su
mucha edad y ver una cosa tan espantosa, que no
acababa de sospechar que fuese, se quedo tan robado
el color como si estuviera defunto, quedando
desmayado por mucho espacio. Ya creyeron ser
fallecido; mas volvio en si como embelesado, y tal,
que ya me daba lastima. Empero consolabame que si
se finara me hiciera menos falta que su dinero.
(II, 227)
If these words had been spoken from the point of view of the
experiencing "I", the lack of concern for the merchant could
be explained because of the yet unreformed nature of the
protagonist. Here, however, the words are clearly those of
the narrating "I", and so one would expect Guzman's attitude
to be drastically different. His words should be filled with
remorse for his actions, but they are not, revealing that at
this point no distinction can be made between the
experiencing / unreformed and narrating / reformed selves.
The narrator feels no sense of guilt for what he has done and
exhibits a total disregard for another man's pain. In fact,
he is extremely satisfied after the swindle: "Lleve a mi casa
mis dineros con todo el regocijo que podéis pensar, guardelo,

arropelo, porque no se arromadizase” (II, 228). The

inconsistency of Guzman's silence in the face of his own

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45

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127
reprehensible acts when it would behoove him to speak and
moralize, again belies the lack of sincerity of his
repentance. The narrator's primary preoccupation here, as
Carroll Johnson notes, is not his conversion, but his skill
at thievery and deceit: "...Guzman galley slave narrates this
episode in a manner well calculated to display his own
effortless brilliance as thief and confidence man. The
moralizing commentary to neutralize the force of the
narration as positive example is absent here" (Inside 39).
Judith Whitenack similarly notes the discrepancy between
Guzman's supposed textual intention, to support the
conversion, and the actions which he describes:

.at the time of the narration he still relishes
the memory of his consummate cleverness. One would
expect that a converted Christian narrator who has
just told the reader all the details of such a
major crime would then give some corrective
guidance, or at least indicate that he recognizes
that this was a large sin, for which he is now
repentant. (Imgertinent 76)

As was the case with master Nicolao, here Guzman's silence
works to undermine the validity of his reformed ways.

The next episode to be mentioned in terms of Guzman's
silence when a moralizing sermon would have been appropriate
involves his second encounter with his uncle in Genoa. The
protagonist's intention upon visiting his relatives in Italy
for a second time is to take vengeance on them for the
blanket toss he received on his previous visit. Again, no
distinction can be made between the protagonist and the

narrator in this episode precisely because of the narrator's

silencing of any moralization following the events. Guzman,

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128
in his roles as protagonist and narrator, is driven by
thoughts of revenge and nothing more. His reaction upon
seeing his uncle for the second time reveals his lack of
compassion and his obsession with vengeance:
Luego lo reconoci, aunque lo halle algo decrepito
por la mucha edad. Holguéme de verlo y pesabame ya
hallarlo tan viejo; quisieralo mas mozo, para que
le durara mas tiempo el dolor de los azotes. Yo
hallo por disparate cuando para vengarse uno de
otro le quita la vida, pues acabando con él, acaba
e1 sentimiento. Cuando algo yo hubiera de hacer,
solo fuera como lo hice con mis deudos, que no me
olvidaran en cuanto vivan y con aquel dolor iran a
la tierra. Deseaba vengarme del y que por lo menos
estuviera en el estado mismo en que lo deje, para
en el mismo pagarle la deuda en que tan sin causa
ni razbn se quiso meter comigo. (II, 246)
A revealing aspect of this passage with regard to the fusion
of the experiencing and narrating Guzmans is the present
tense use of the verb ”hallar." This usage would suggest that
the unfeeling attitude originated from the narrating and not
the experiencing Guzman. Therefore, the bitter need for
vengeance and complete lack of compassion is almost certainly
something that is still felt by the "reformed" galley slave
at the time of writing.

The last story to be mentioned involves the trick that
Guzman plays on the fraile soon before being sent to the
galleys. He takes advantage of the good and trusting nature
of the friar and then gloats about how easy it is to deceive
a good, religious man: ”Oue no hay cosa tan facil para
engafiar a un justo como santidad fingida en un malo" (II,
427). In a moment of reflection regarding the goodness of

the friar and his own evil ways, Guzman begins to cry and

appears to show some signs of remorse, but they are short

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129
lived. The narrator says:
Cuando aquesto me decia, daba lanzadas en el
corazdn porque, considerada su santidad y sencillez
con mi grande malicia y bellaqueria, pues con tan
mal medio lo queria hacer instrumento de mis
hurtos, reventaronme las lagrimas. Creyo el buen
santo que por Dios las derramaba y tambien como yo
se puso tierno. (II, 426)
His brief tears are a result of a passing reflection, not the
beginnings of a serious religious reform or a sign from God
as the friar believes them to be. Guzman recognizes the
difference between himself and the friar, and perhaps regrets
using him to evil ends, but he makes no attempt to change and
does not state that his deception of the man is wrong. As in
other parts of the book, there is a big difference between
fleetingly recognizing evil and acting upon it to permanently
change it into good. Guzman makes no attempt to learn from
the friar's goodness, and the fact that he deceives a priest,
and one with honourable intentions, is somewhat ironic
considering his impending religious conversion. In
retrospect, the reader would expect some sign of remorse from
Guzman regarding his deception of a religious man, but none
is present. The friar is simply mocked for his simplicity
and gullibility.

As the story of his life progresses, Guzman's
recognition of his evil ways diminishes and his silence, in
terms of his failure to moralize, increases. His crimes and
tricks become more heinous and he appears to be undisturbed
by the harmful effect that his actions have on others. In

accordance with the pending religious conversion, as the

experiencing point of view and the narrating point of view

130
begin to merge on a temporal plane, one would have thought
that Guzman's moral commentaries would increase and not
decrease toward the end of the story. On the one hand, the
increasing silence of the narrator's moral statements creates
the illusion that the religious conversion is all the more

powerful at the end of the story. On the other hand,

however, it is again essential to remember that the
conversion is Qg£_the end point of the narrative, but the
point of departure from which the entire text evolves. The
narrator is already reformed at the time of writing and so
the lack of moralizing sermons throughout, but especially
toward the end of the book, appears antithetical to his
stated purpose of proving a conversion.

Another character toward whom Guzman shows a marked lack
of compassion is his fellow galley slave, Soto. The
relationship between the two men must be considered
separately from the previous incidents mentioned because it
involves a different and more radical kind of silencing. The
relationship between Soto and Guzman is also extremely
telling with regard to the unrepentant nature of the latter.
Soto is one of two characters in the text that Guzman sees as
a threat in his life (the other being Sayavedra).

Recognizing the potentially harmful effect that Soto could
have on his reputation as a thief and also on the credibility
of his conversion, Guzman sets out to fictionally silence
him. The way in which he goes about this is by setting up a
contrast between the two of them, making himself look

innocent and victimized while making Soto out to be cruel and

131
vengeful. The two men originally met in prison just before
being sent to the galleys. Initially good friends, they soon
become enemies for the following reason. Guzman steals some
valuables from some men who are travelling with the galley
convoy. He asks Soto to stash the goods until it is safe to
bring them out in the open, but when he requests their
return, Soto feigns ignorance saying that he does not have
them. Guzman goes directly to the comitre and denounces his
friend who is subsequently beaten into a confession of the
valuables' whereabouts. There are two important points to
the altercation between the two men. First, the initial
robbery, the one that Guzman had committed, is completely
silenced and Soto is instead made out to be the evil person;
and second, Guzman genuinely sees Soto's actions as a
personal affront and remains silent about his own guilt in
the episode. Soto is the one who has done wrong in Guzman‘s
eyes, not himself. After Soto's confession, Guzman is
satisfied but not remorseful about his successful act of
vengeance.

Later on in the text when Soto and his mates make it
appear as though Guzman has stolen a hat band from his
master, the narrator exagerrates the lashing he receives in
order to heighten his image of himself as a victim.
Describing the beating he says:

Subieronme arriba, donde me tuvieron grande rato
atado por las mufiecas de los brazos y colgado en el
aire. Fue un terrible tormento, donde crei
espirar. Porque se me afligio el corazon de
manera, que apenas lo sentia en el cuerpo y me

faltaba el aliento. Bajaronmne de alli, no para
que descansase, sino para volverme a crujia.

132

Arrizaronme a su proposito de barriga y asi me

azotaron con tal crueldad, como si fuera por algun

gravisimo delito. Mandaronme dar azotes de muerte.

(II, 474)
Before when Soto was beaten, Guzman showed no compassion
whatsoever, but here he makes sure that everyone feels sorry
for his suffering. He puts up with the beating because it
makes him out to be a martyr of sorts and because it helps to
build up the reader's sympathy for him as Brancaforte points
out: "Cuando la rueda de la fortuna cambia y torturan a
Guzman, éste exige, como ser superior, que toda la piedad del
mundo fluya hacia él" (Conversidn 74). The reason why this
episode is so important is that it occurs shortly after
Guzman has experienced his conversion. His suffering, which
appears saintly, and the lashing, which appears unjust, make
us consider the possibility that the conversion itself may be
purposely contrived, and specifically placed here to set up
the contrast between Soto and Guzman. This contrast will
later aid Guzman in his plan to fictionally silence his
rival. We have to examine what happens next in the narrative
to fully appreciate the hypocrisy of Guzman's conversion and
his silent suffering onboard the ship. The narrator has
skillfully built up an image of himself as the repentant
victim that sharply contrasts with the cruelty of Soto, who
is the mastermind behind the plan to have Guzman caught and
tortured. Guzman's claims that he had tried to be Soto's
friend but was repeatedly rejected by him, and the fervor
with which he describes Soto's need for vengeance: "se

desvelaba mi enemigo Soto en destruirme. Pues, cuando mas no

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133
pudo, compro a puro dinero su venganza" (II, 470), make Soto
out to be the evil one of the two. Through Guzman's supposed
conversion and Christian suffering of the punishment, the
reader may mistake his actions for those of a convert, when
in fact, he is building up the image of himself as a God
fearing man and portraying Soto as a corrupt and vengeful
enemy. The contrast between them makes the fictional revenge
and silencing of Soto appear all the more justified.
Guzman's plan is flawed, however, because he is unable to
maintain his repentant image for long. For instance, after
claiming to be Soto's forgiving friend, he passively stands
by in silence and watches him be ripped apart by four galley
ships without without any attempt to aid him and with no sign
whatsoever of compassion. This is hardly behaviour befitting
a newly converted man. Brancaforte makes two important
points with regard to Guzman's attitude toward Soto here.
First he notes the narrator's lack of compassion: "notaremos
que Guzman no habia tenido ninguna compasion hacia nadie,
como no la tendra mas adelante...Mas bien que piedad, la
actitud de Guzman manifiesta sadismo" (Conversidn 74). A
little further on he describes the incongruity between
Guzman's words as a convert and his lack of emotion upon
Soto's death: "Guzman ‘convertido' no derrama ni una lagrima
ni lanza un suspiro ante Soto, que se humilla pidiendole
perddn. Guzman se convierte en un personaje muy silencioso,
impasible, como si de repente fuera un personaje del ‘nouveau
roman'" (76). His silence after Soto's demise demonstrates

that the only thing that matters to him at the end of the

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134
text is his freedom, not his conversion. It is also
significant that Guzman describes Soto as "mi cuchillo"
suggesting that he is the only person from his past who can
tie Guzman to his continuing life of crime. Soto must
therefore be silenced. Guzman uses his conversion as the
pretense for his saintly behaviour in order to draw a
contrast between himself and the reprehensible Soto. In this
way he can easily subvert his rival and then ultimately
silence him without it looking too much like the act of
vengeance that it truly is. By removing the only obstacle
left in his path, Guzman achieves freedom and at the same
time creates the illusion of himself as being a reformed man.

It is interesting to note how long Guzmén keeps up the
appearance of the suffering martyr before turning into the
unfeeling, unrepentant narrator that he was before. His good
natured, tolerant, forgiving self disappears directly before
the execution of Soto when Guzman does not accept his enemy's
apology and then does nothing to prevent the execution from
taking place. His silence bespeaks the hypocrisy of his
conversion which was concocted to help bring his plan of
silencing Soto to its fruition.

The purpose of discussing these specific episodes up to
this point has been to show how the silencing of moral
sermons and the absence of remorse serve to undermine the
narrator's claims to repentance. The silence of the narrator
makes his conversion questionable and creates an important
inconsistency in the text as Arias notes: ”Whatever the case,

the lack of moral commentary seems remarkable considering his

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usual loquacity" (75). The narrator, who is learned, and
obviously skilled in the art of storytelling, undermines his
own design and chooses not to speak when speaking would be
the most logical thing for him to do. As was the case in

Lazarillo dggTormgg, the reader may suspect that within the

 

apparent autonomy of Guzman's voice lurks the presence of his
implied author, whose plans for his character may reach far
beyond simply proving a religious conversion.

This brings us to a discussion of Juan Marti's spurious
part two of Guzman dg Alfarache and the effect that his text
had on the composition of Aleman's own sequel. It is really
through the narrator's commentary on the apocryphal part two
that the presence of the implied author can be surmised in
Aleman's second part. In the first part of the text,
although the implied author’s presence can be attributed to
the discrepancies we have noted between what the narrator
claims (to be repentant) and what he does (does not repent),
Buzmén does appear to be a fairly autonomous character who is
not heavily voiced-over. Carroll Johnson supports this idea
by stating that we must ”accept Guzman on his own terms, as a
literary personage who exists only within the pages of a
book, yet who within those limits enjoys complete autonomy"
(Insigg 229). As we have mentioned previously, complete
autonomy in a work is improbable, but the illusion of
autonomy certainly is possible and is accomplished by both
Lazaro and Guzman to a certain extent in their texts.

In an attempt to better identify the implied author's

presence in the narrator's discourse in the second part of

136
Guzman de Alfarache, it would be helpful to summarize the
changes that occur in Guzmén's personality in part two and
also to explore the character who best represents Marti's
spurious part two within Aleman's text: Sayavedra. The
introduction of Sayavedra into the second part marks a

turning point in the narration in that it diverts the

direction of the text away from the book's moralizing purpose
instead to focus on a complex and indepth act of vengeance
against the author who supposedly stole Aleman's ideas for
his sequel. Friedman summarizes the change in the narrative
pretext from part one to part two as follows: "Part
l...unfolds the picaresque autobiography in a setting of
repentance and moral instruction...Part 2...modifies the
‘intention' to include a more self—righteous attitude toward
the morality of part I...and an attack on the sequel and its
author" (Antiheroine 48). The revenge against Juan Marti is
ingeniously fictionalized in Aleman's part two by way of a
type of fictional exorcism: "With the appearance of the
character Sayavedra, Alemén initiates within the fiction an
exposure and exorcism, which by its very success immortalizes
the impostor in a classic text" (Friedman, Antiheroing,42).
Sayavedra represents Aleman's re-fictionalization of Juan
Marti's own Guzman in the apocryphal part two.1 He therefore
is a clone of sorts of Alemén's Guzman; a clone that Aleman
thought had been constructed, or written, incorrectly by his
literary rival. Not only does Aleman disagree with the way
that the false Guzman was portrayed, he also "criticizes

Marti's ‘reading' of part 1" (Friedman, Antihgroing_4l). In

137
his introductory remarks to the reader in his own part two,
Aleman mentions some of the difficulties he has with his
rival's text and character:

Advierto en esto que no faciliten las manos a tomar
la pluma sin que se cansen los ojos y hagan capaz a
el entendimiento; no escriban sin que lean, si
quieren ir llegados a el asunto, sin desencuadernar
e1 propésito...Dejemos agora que no se pudo llamar
‘ladrOn famosisimo' por tres capas que hurto...y
que sea muy ajeno de historias fabulosas introducir
personas publicas y conocidas, nombrandolas por sus
proprios hombres. Y vengamos a la oblibacién que
tuvo de volverlo a Génova, para vengar la injuria,
de que dejo amenazados a sus deudos, en el ultimo
capitulo de la primera parte, libro primero. Y
otras muchas cosas, que sin quedar satisfechas pasa
en diferentes, alterando y reiterando, no sdlo el
caso, mas aun las proprias palabras. De donde
tengo por sin duda la dificultad que tiene querer
seguir discursos ajenos: porque los lleva su duefio
desde los princpios entablados a cosas que no es
posible darles otro caza, ni aunque se le
comuniquen a boca...Esto no acusa falta en el
entendimiento, que no lo pudo ser pensar otro mis
pensamientos. (II, 20-21)

Aleman appears angry that Marti did not write Guzmtn as he
thought he should have been written. In an attempt to
liquidate and silence the apocryphal character2 and to
reconstruct the original Guzmén, Aleman ultimately does the
same thing to his character as Marti did in creating the
Buzmén of the apocryphal second part. In other words,
Aleman's part two, which is supposedly the ‘real' part two,
is in turn a product of and a response to his reading of
Marti's text, just as Marti's text was a product of and
response to Aleman's part one. The original Guzman was put
to rest, or silenced, at the end of part one, and the Guzman
that Aleman writes in his second part is not a continuation

of the first Guzman, but is instead a composite figure who is

138
not purely Aleman's anymore, but is a fictional response to
Marti's character in much the same way that Sayavedra is.
What results is an attempt by Aleman in part two to
"‘rewrite' the text" (Friedman, Antiheroin§_49) of his
literary rival. It is interesting to consider the narrator's
frequent claim that each reader can choose his own
interpretation, and yet Aleman, when faced with a reading
that he does not agree with, insists that his rival's
interpretation of his text is misguided. The so called
"rewriting" of Marti's book creates several artistic problems
for the author and the narrator of the real part two in that
the literary pretext must necessarily be altered in order for
the goal of vengeance to be successfully carried out. This
refocusing creates a paradox that pulls the story in
antithetical and apparently irreconcilable directions as
Friedman explains:
The authentic second part must lead to Guzman's
conversion and contextualize the literary feud.
Since conversion implies forgiveness, the aims of
the second part are somewhat incompatible. The
vengeance of the author calls attention to Guzman's
vengeful tone, while in contrast there is no
heightened moral quality in the narrative voice.
(Antiheroine 50)
In his attempt to debase and silence Marti's book and his
character, Aleman uses Guzman as his tool to carry out the
literary exorcism. It is through Guzman's systematic
silencing of Sayavedra that the reader can glimpse the
implied author's voice directing the narrator to act in ways

that are clearly against his best interests. Guzman, who

before appeared to have control over his text, is here

139
subverted to the point where "he has as little control over
words as over fate" (Friedman, Antiheroine 48). He no longer
appears to be a lifelike character in the second part, but
instead is reduced to a rhetorical device that is manipulated
and voiced-over by the implied author. As Silverman reminds
us: "...we are dealing with a creature made of nouns and
adjectives, commas and semi-colons, verbs and adverbs,
periods and question marks, and not of flesh and blood,
tissue and bone, sweat and tears" (Arias xvi), and in part
two, Guzman's words (and Guzman as words) are used to the
extreme to silence his literary nemesis.

Having addressed the altered pretext in Aleman's second
part (from conversion to vengeance), it is now necessary to
examine how he has Guzman go about taking literary vengeance
on Marti by way of Sayavedra. The narrator enacts a careful
plan to progressively silence Sayavedra until he disappears
completely from the text. It is important to remember that
Sayavedra is a rhetorical device that is voiced-over from his
literary inception to his literary demise. If we may suspect
that Guzman's words are not his own at times, we should be
doubly aware that Sayavedra's words do not belong to him, but
to a narrator who is directing his every move. Therefore,
Sayavedra is really silent from the very beginning of his
fictional existence in Aleman's second part. The
illusiveness of the character is made clear from his first
appearance in the text when he refuses to name himself.
Guzman says: "Supliquele me dijese su posada y nombre.

Negdmelo todo, prometiendo volverme a visitar" (II, 116).

140
Sayavedra is thus cloaked in mystery from the onset. The
second time that Guzman mentions the boy, the former
purposely witholds his name from the reader: "Dijéme su
tierra y nombre" (II, 117). The narrator subjects his
fictional rival to anonymity for as long as he possibly can
before revealing his name, thus symbolically dismissing his
fictional existence.

In order to understand the rhetorical process used by
Guzman to silence his rival, two very important episodes that
occur in the story around the time of Sayavedra's appearance
in the text should be discussed. The first involves a
reiteration of Guzman's stated purpose for writing the book:
"Mas, como el fin que llevo es fabricar un hombre perfeto,
siempre que hallo piedras para el edificio, las voy
amontonando" (II, 114). This idea of creating the perfect
man at first glance appears to reinforce the pretext of
conversion, but later it will become distorted, not to
produce a man who reaches perfection through repentance, but
one who reaches a fictional superiority or perfection of
sorts over Sayavedra through an act of narrative vengeance.
The second episode of importance involves an abrupt change in
Guzman's personality that appears indirectly related to
Sayavedra's impending introduction to the text. All of a
sudden Guzman tells his master, the embajaggr, the truth
about an embarrassing experience that happened to him in the
street: "...dijele toda la verdad” (II, 116). This
confession is completely unexpected coming from a Guzman who

previously avoided telling the truth at all costs. To make

141
the admission even more surprising, Guzman abruptly claims to
be a changed man after the event: "Guede tan avergonzado, tan
otro yo por entonces, tan diferente de lo que antes era" (II,
117). This sudden change is completely out of place in the
text, having no good reason for its occurence at this

particular point. Guzman had been embarrassed on many

different occasions before, but never was he moved to change
his personality as a result of them. The question is why
now? This episode appears to serve a similar function to the
conveniently experienced conversion that Guzman underwent in
order to create a sharp contrast between Soto and himself.
Here Guzman is doing the same thing; setting the stage to
later contrast himself with Sayavedra. He claims that he is
a different person, and from this point until the end of the
first few chapters after Sayavedra's introduction he does
indeed appear to be a changed and compassionate man. His
reform, however, is short lived. We must ask ourselves why
the narrator abruptly claims to be reformed and then just as
quickly reverts to his old ways? It appears as though the
implied author, who was at first trying to prove his
character to be a better man than Sayavedra through his good
deeds and humble nature, then realized that the type of
vengeance that he wanted to carry out could not be
sufficiently achieved through simply proving that Guzman had
experienced a religious conversion. This course of action
would have preserved Marti, his character and the apochryphal
text intact; something that Aleman obviously was not about to

tolerate. In order to truly exorcise the false Guzman and

142
create a superior being, Aleman's Guzman would have to outdo
Sayavedra at his own game, stealing and deceit. The author
therefore had to find a way to prove his character's
superiority over his rival by challenging him on narrative
ground that was familiar to both of them. Sayavedra, or
Marti's Guzman, never experienced a conversion in the
apocryphal part two, but was instead portrayed as a petty
thief by his author. Therefore, Guzman has to again become a
lying and deceiving swindler, and a much better one than his
inferior counterpart in order to be able to compete
fictionally with him. The focus of the text becomes a battle
for fictional supremacy between Guzman and Sayavedra
intratextually and Aleman and Marti extratextually.
Throughout the course of Sayavedra's existence in the

text, he is summarily humiliated, ridiculed and silenced.
For instance, before Guzman decides that he must be worse
than Sayavedra in order to be fictionally better than him, he
makes himself out to be the forgiving master, and Sayavedra
to be the grovelling servant. 0n the way out of Siena,
Guzman and Sayavedra run into each other and the latter begs
Guzman’s forgiveness for his involvement in the theft of the
chests. Guzman appears to be forgiving and compassionate
toward Sayavedra, a behaviour that, before the abrupt change
mentioned above, we had thought him incapable of:

No pude resistirme sin hablarle con amor ni el de

recibirme con lagrimas, que vertiendolas por todo

el rostro se vino a mis pies, abrazandose con el

estribo y pidiendome perdOn de su yerro, dandome

gracias de que nunca, estando preso, lo quise

acusar y satisfaciones de no haberme visitado luego
que salio de la carcel, dando culpa dello a su

143
corto atrevimientio y larga ofensa; empero que para
en cuenta y parte de pago de su deuda queria como
un esclavo servirme toda su vida. (II, 145)
By portraying himself as the forgiving master, Guzman
immediately places himself in a position of superiority over
Sayavedra. Many such incidents occur throughout the next few
chapters where Sayavedra is made out to be the ignorant and
weak servant and Guzman the ingenious and caring master.
Sayavedra is always kept in the shadows, playing second
fiddle to Guzman's brilliant plans. A case in point is the
robbery of the merchant in Milan where Guzman excludes
Sayavedra from part of his scheme and then humiliates him
when he does not understand the plan: ”...Sayavedra, e1
estaba como tonto" (II, 217). Upon successful completion of
the swindle, the narrator puts words in Sayavedra's mouth,
making him praise Guzman's brilliance and even making him
take his name in an effort to show how much he reveres his
master and how much he would like to be like him. After
Guzman brings the stolen money home he describes Sayavedra's
awe of him as follows:
Y con ser esto asi, aun mi criado no lo acababa de
creer ni tocandole las manos. Pareciale todo suefio
y no posible haber salido con ello. Santiguabase
con ambas manos de mi, porque, aunque cuando en
Roma me conocio, supo mi vida y tratos, teniendome
por de sutil ingenio, so se le alcanzo que pudiera
ser tanto y que las mataba en el aire, pudiendo ser
muchos afios mi maestro y aun tenerme seis por su
aprendiz. (II 228)
Immediately after these flattering words, Guzman insults
Sayavedra, claiming that thieves of his servant's caliber

could ruin the profession's good name: "Donde yo anduviere,

bien podran los de vuestro tamafio bajar el estandarte" (II,

144
228). These are a few examples of Guzman's systematic
dismantling and silencing of Sayavedra through a carefully
enacted process of humiliation.
In another attempt to further insult Sayavedra and his
author in the rival text, the narrator makes Sayavedra admit
to his lack of education. Sayavedra says: "Yo, como no tengo
letras ni se mas que un monacillo" (II, 191). Criticizing
the learnedness of his character is symbolically the ultimate
insult to the author of the apocryphal part two. In order to
make sure that both the character and the author are
sufficiently humiliated, Guzman also introduces Sayavedra's
brother into the text who represents the fictionalization of
Juan Marti. Sayavedra says: "Llamabase Juan Marti. Hizo del
Juan, Lujan, y del Marti, Mateo; y volviendolo por pasiva,
llamose Mateo Lujan" (II, 191). Guzman holds the older
brother responsible for the misguided behaviour of his
younger brother Sayavedra. Aleman thereby not only makes
sure that Marti's fictional character is silenced, but that
his author also be exposed. Guzman says of Sayavedra's
innocence and his brother's guilt:
No le culpo. Empero a su hermano mayor, e1 sefior
Juan Marti o Mateo Lujan, como mas quisiere que sea
su buena gracia, que ya tenia edad cuando su padre
le falto, para saber mal y bien, y quedo con buena
casa y puesto, rico y honrado, ccual diablo de
tentacién 1e vino en dejar su negocio y empacharse
con tal facilidad en lo que no era suyo, querer
quitar capas? (II, 207)

This is of course in reference to Marti's supposed theft of

Aleman's ideas for the second part of Guzman gg Alfaracng.

Aleman is implying that Marti should have remained silent and

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145
been happy with what he had instead of stealing another's
thoughts. In order to secure his position of superiority as
the true author of the Guzman, Aleman attempts to insult and
then silence the apocryphal author and his creation through
his "superior” fiction. Although Guzman and Aleman are

successful at silencing Sayavedra and Marti within the text,
they in essence give both the character and the text more of
a voice than it had before. As Friedman mentioned
previously, through the silencing process, Guzman and Aleman
unwittingly immortalized the text that they were attempting
to silence.

The death of Sayavedra is the ultimate victory for
Guzman with regard to the silencing of his literary double.
On the galley ship Sayavedra, whose personality has been
systematically dismantled through Guzman's insults, goes
insane and throws himself from the ship in a mad frenzy. His
last words before his demise are: "sYo soy la sombra de
Guzman de Alfarache! aSu sombra soy, que voy por el mundo!"
(II, 274). By claiming to be Guzman's shadow the character
symbolically admits his inferiority to the true Guzman. A
shadow is a reflection of something else, but is, in itself,
nothing, it is non-existent, silent. Having reduced his
rival to nothingness, Guzman then adds insult to injury by
showing a complete and total lack of compassion for his
servant's suffering and death:

Sinifique sentirlo; mas sabe Dios la verdad. Otro
dia, cuando amanecio, levanteme luego por la mafiana
y todo el casi se me paso recibiendo pesames, cual

si fuera mi hermano, pariente o deudo que me hiciera
mucha falta, o como si, cuando a la mar se arrojo,

146

se hubiera llevado consigo los baules. (II, 275)
Sayavedra meant less to Guzman than his chests. This is
hardly the attitude of a God fearing man. His silence after
his servant's death betrays his ill will toward him, and
makes it clear that he is pleased that "justice" has been
served and that Sayavedra has been eliminated. As a result
of Guzman's silencing of his rival he manages to claim
narrative supremacy for himself, but as a result, his hopes
of proving his conversion have been irreparably damaged.

Even though the fictional exorcism has been a success

for Guzman we must ask ourselves at what cost? The narrator
has changed as a result of his dealings with his rival.
Guzman's ruthless vengeance of Sayavedra (a character who had
no fictional voice of his own with which to defend himself
against his fictional subversion), makes him appear less and
less repentant. Ultimately, however, it is Guzman who is the
true victim in the text. In order for the narrator to be
able to compete on a fictional level with Sayavedra, the
implied author had to alter his personality in a manner that
was grossly inconsistent with his previous attempts at
proving a conversion. The picture that we have of Guzman at
the end of the Sayavedra incident is of a monster, not a
pious man. The point is that Aleman, when faced with the
apocryphal part two, became more concerned about creating a
better fictional character than with proving a conversion.
Aleman's perfect man is no longer the repentant, God fearing
soul we initially thought he would be, but is instead a

superior fictional being whose only goal is to subvert the

147
false Guzman. In the process of becoming fictionally
superior, however, Guzman also has become cruel and ruthless:
qualities that are antithetical to his former image as a
reformed man. The author, his goal of fictional supremacy
over Marti having been a success, is unconcerned with the
contradictions in his character's personality. After all, it
is not Aleman who has to suffer the consequences if Guzman is
not convincingly reformed, but the narrator himself. By
making Guzman the executioner, Aleman distances himself, at
least visibly, from the cruelty of his narrator, letting the
latter take all of the blame. By giving the character
apparent autonomy over the text, the author sets his creation
up to take a fall. The narrator therefore suffers
progressive subversion by the intrusive authorial voice, and
the Guzman who we knew in part one gradually disappears until
a new and better (fictionally), but worse (morally) Guzman
replaces him.3 Carroll Johnson sees this change in Guzman as
a process of character disintegration: ”Guzman galley
slave...instead of exhibiting his abomination for the sins he
committed then considers it one of the most pleasant epochs
of his life. The development of the character's ethical
consciousness is, on this basis, really not a development at
all, but a disintegration" (Inside 43). Guzman is
progressively silenced and in his place is a highly voiced-
over narrator who does not appear aware of the incongruity
between his actions and his words. So when whitenack asks:
"Does the narrator not realize that he is contradicting

himself constantly?" (Impertinent 109), the answer would

148
appear to be "no," because he, just like Sayavedra, is being
controlled and victimized by an implied author whose
presence, although illusive, works to subvert and silence
Guzman too.

In the meantime, Aleman has come out of the experience
with what he had set out to achieve: the successful fictional
vengeance of his literary rival, and the authentication of
his character, Guzman. When discussing Guzman's attitude
toward Sayavedra, Carroll Johnson notes the importance of
character authenticity in the text: ”Guzman...demonstrates
his own uniqueness, his own authenticity vis-a-vis an
inferior imitation...affirmation by the protagonist of his
own existence" (Inside 38). It is clear from the progression
of the story that the concern for authenticity greatly
outweighs the need to prove a conversion in the second part
of Guzman de Alfarache. In the process of proving Guzman's
supremacy over Sayavedra, Aleman likewise affirms his
artistic superiority over Marti.

When considering authenticity, however, it is again
important to remember that the Guzman of Aleman's second part
is not an "authentic” character. In fact, he is the third
Guzman,“ and an intertextual composite of all of the Guzmanes
who preceded him. The Guzman of part two could never again
be the "pure" creature who Aleman had written in his first
part because that character ceased to exist at the end of
part one.

Up to this point we have considered the effects of

silence on the believability of the conversion, and we have

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149

also examined how the implied author's presence in the second
part of the text works to progressively subvert and silence
his narrative creations: both Sayavedra and Guzman. Now it
would be interesting to turn to a different use of silence in
the two parts of the Guzman and to consider its use as a tool
of deception in the four interpolated stories of the novel.

Many critics have written that it is love that ties all
of these novels together.a Although it is true that love is a
common theme throughout the stories, it is not a prevalent
theme in GuzmangdggAlfarache (the preoccupation with love is
basically restricted to the second part of the text). The
theme of deceit, however, does tie all of the interpolated
novels into the Guzman. Silence and deceit go hand in hand
in the these stories in that the protagonists all conceal
information in order to manipulate the outcome of their
tales. Throughout 02min Dara'a, for example, the truth is
slightly altered in order to achieve a specific end. Ozmin
carefully conceals his identity in order to get closer to
Daraja. He first pretends to be don Luis' son, then Ambrosio
the gardener, and finally Jaime Vives. The technique used by
both of the lovers to tell their story, as Morell points out,
is that of "engafiar con la verdad" (106). The characters
take pride in their ability to manipulate the truth and
deceive others, and they both go to great lengths to keep the
real truth a secret. 02min remains a mysterious character
throughout the story, and at the end, when he is about to be
hung, remains silent in the face of confession:

...mayor dolor ponia ver que moria sin querer

150
confesar. Todos creian lo hacia por escapar o
dilatar la vida. Mas palabra no hablaba ni
tristeza mostraba en el rostro; antes con
semblante casi risuefio iba mirando a todos.
Pararonse un poco con el para persuadirlo a que
confesase y no quisiese asi perder el alma con el
cuerpo; a nada respondia y a todo callaba. (I,
246)
02min‘s silence can be interpreted in two ways. He can be
seen as the bravest of men who approaches death with no sign
of fear, or he can be seen as an unremorseful (considering
the fact that he killed several villagers), unrepentant man
who refuses to confess because of his disbelief in God. Both
of these scenarios are possible. We as readers have to form
our own opinions regarding this duality in much the same way
as we have to resolve similar inconsistencies and
discrepancies in the Guzman as a whole. At the end of the
story when 02min is saved from death by the royal decree,
both he and Daraja convert to Christianity. Their
conversion, much like Guzman's is questionable because we
have no additional textual clues after the end of the story
to support or refute the sincerity of the act. From all
appearances, their conversion is the only course of action
available to them if they want to be together and stay alive.
As Morell states: "la conversidn e integracién final del
protagonista esta condicionada por la sujecidn a una
autoridad superior capaz de sefialar la muerte o la salvacién
de sus sudbitos" (105). As was the case with Guzman's
conversion, information about the protagonists' post-

conversion life is similarly silenced here, and so the

ambiguity of the end of the story is left to the reader to

151
ponder and resolve.“

Another aspect of 02min y Daraja that has often been
overlooked is Guzman's role as the narrator of the story.
Although Guzman, as a participant, is silent during the
interpolated tale, he is still near by, orchestrating from

the margins of the text. His comments at the end of the

story are revealing with regard to his cloaked presence
throughout the tale. He does not totally disappear, he just
withdraws far enough to divert the reader's attention away
from himself. Guzman explains how he told the tale
differently from the way that the friar had initially told
it: "Con gran silencio veniamos escuchando aquesta historia,
cuando llegamos a vista de Cazalla, que parecio haberla
medido al justo, aunque mas dilatada y con alma diferente nos
la dijo de lo que yo la he contado” (I, 248). Guzman's
silence throughout the tale does not necessarily mean that he
did not tamper with its retelling in order to suit his own
narrative ends. Although his involvement and his editing may
be quite innocent, the point is that he is present throughout
this interpolated story which consequently cannot be
considered as separate from the main narrative because it is
directed by the silent voice (and pen) of the withdrawn
narrator. As Morell notes: "...nuestro protagonista admite
abiertamente su manipulacidn y trastorno de la narracibn que
oyera del fraile...veremos el proceso de transformaciOn de
los modelos como un intento de ajustarlos a las experiencias
de un mundo cadtico y amorfo. Ese es el mundo de Guzman"

(103). She goes on to note that "02min x Daraja y Guzman de

152
Alfarache sefialan a un mismo narrador” (117).

If Guzman is the narrator of 02min x Daraja, then it is
also safe to say that he narrates the other three
interpolated tales in Guzman de Alfarache and that his silent
voice speaks through the words of the other fictional
characters. In the second tale of Dorido y Clorini§_some
examples of common themes between this interpolated story and
Guzman's story as a whole are deceit, vengeance and a
complete lack of compassion and remorse. Internally, the use
of silence helps to heighten all of these themes. For
example, Oracio manages to brutally mutilate Clorinia by
feigning to be Dorido and by keeping his identity a secret.
Similarly, when Dorido goes to take vengeance on Dracio for
the heinous crime he committed against Clorinia, he does not
reveal to his enemy that he knows of his crime, and thereby
deceives him long enough to, in turn, mutilate and kill him.
Neither Oracio nor Dorido show any emotion or remorse after
harming another person. In fact, they continue as though
nothing ever happened; Oracio goes back to his house after
severing Clorinia's hand, and Dorido leaves the country after
taking vengeance on Oracio. It is also interesting to note
that Dorido's revenge was not an act done out of love for
Clorinia, but to satisfy his own selfish need for vengeance.
In fact, he in turn deceives Clorinia and her family by
making them believe that his marriage to her is done for
honourable reasons, not revealing to them that the marriage
is the only way by which he can legally take vengeance on his

enemy. To make matters worse, Dorido does not return to be

 

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153
with his dying wife after he has killed Oracio. As soon as
he has taken his revenge, he disappears without a word or a
trace. Vengeance, not love, is the driving force of this
interpolated story, and the means to achieve that end is
deceit through secrecy and silence.

In the third interpolated tale involving Don Alvaro de
Luna, Don Luis and Don Rodrigo, deceit is again a central
theme. Don Luis and his lover create an elaborate plan to
trick Rodrigo by asking him to lay in bed with the woman's
husband so that the lovers can be alone together. Rodrigo is
left to suffer in silence in the dark for several hours
before his friends return: "No habia luz alguna. Estaba todo
a escuras y en estrafio silencio. Estuveme asi a un lado de
la cama, lo mas apartado que pude, no un cuarto de hora, ni
media; sino mas de cinco" (II, 86). When the lovers return
and reveal to Rodrigo that it had all been a joke and that he
had really been in bed with one of the woman's doncellas,
Rodrigo's reaction is far from one of amusement. The words
used to describe his state after the trick are: ”temor"
”atajado” and "avergonce." The deceit, far from being funny,
is humiliating and vicious, especially considering that there
was no pretext for it. As in the previous two tales, the
ending is unresolved and enigmatic. The reader is never told
why the lovers tricked Rodrigo and the story itself is filled
with inconsistencies. Brancaforte raises some important and
interesting questions when he observes that:

El propOsito del relato parece ser puramente

"literario"....0uedan, sin embargo, puntos
desconcertantes: "cCual es la verdad? aSon

154

fidedignas las quejas del amante que por una

sortija esta dispuesto a revelar los secretos de su

amor? éQue significa la trampa de la condesa, con

respecto a Don Rodrigo, o la actitud del

condestable que aprueba en efecto el adulterio?

éEs todo engafio?" (footnote, Guzman II, 87)
The point of this story is not really, as it would appear to
be, who has the better love story to tell Don Alvaro, but who
is the better storyteller. Both Don Luis and Don Rodrigo
will embellish their tales to make them more interesting
because there is a prize at stake, the diamond ring. In all
its mystery, this tale is indispensible to Guzman de
Alfarache as a whole with regard to the question of literary
superiority, because various aspects of Aleman's own literary
feud with Marti are here paralleled. For example, the first
story, Don Luis’ is followed by a sequel, that of Don
Rodrigo, in which the protagonist of the first, Don Luis, is
incorporated into that of the second. By using Don Luis in
his story, Don Rodrigo completely discredits his friend's
tale. Don Luis had led us to believe that he was the
rejected lover who had been left by the countess for a rich
husband, but then Rodrigo steps in and tells us that in fact
Don Luis continued seeing the countess even after her
marriage, thereby demonstrating that his friend's story is
false. This need to discredit someone else's story by
telling a better tale clearly reflects Aleman’s intention to
subvert Marti through the same means. It is also significant
that this interpolated tale is included at the beginning of

the second book in that it reflects the intra- and

extratextual contest for storytelling superiority between

155
Guzman and Sayavedra inside of the text and Marti and Aleman
outside of it.
In the fourth interpolated tale, which is told
immediately following the death of Sayavedra, the reader can
again glimpse the presence of Guzman directing the story from

afar. Some parallels can be drawn between this tale and its

significant position in the text just as was the case with
the Don Alvaro de Luna episode. Dorotea would appear to
function as another of Guzman’s doubles in this story. She
begins as an innocent woman who lives an exemplary life until
she is corrupted by forces beyond her control. She is
literally stolen away from her husband by Claudio just as
Aleman's book and character were stolen away from him by
Marti. Claudio enjoys the fruits of his theft for a short
time until poetic justice steps in and saves Dorotea and
destroys Claudio's honour and reputation. Upon seeing the
damage that his actions have caused, Claudio regrets what he
has done and becomes a repentant man for the rest of his life
(just as Aleman hopes that Marti might regret ever having
stolen his character and text). Dorotea is not free from
blame in this incident, but her actions are excused in a
literary world where the question is not who is good and who
is bad, but who is the less evil. Also, the implication here
is not that Dorotea is corrupt, but that she is made corrupt
by her surroundings, and this, at least in Guzman's
philosophy, exempts her from blame. Dorotea's silence at the
end of the episode is as telling as Guzman's silence after

the death of Sayavedra as Moreno Baez notes:

156
"Dorotea...oculta al marido todo lo pasado y sigue viviendo
en santa paz con el, sin dar sefiales de remordimiento" (186).
If we think back on our discussion of Guzman's silence,
Dorotea's silence then can be seen to reveal both her lack of
remorse for her actions as well as her guilt in this
situation.

Although silence is apparent at a textual level in all
four interpolated stories as a tool used by the protagonists
to deceive and disimulate, its primary function lies beyond
the text with the narrator, who, feigning silence through his
apparent distance from the stories, carefully weaves his way
into every word. Nothing in these stories is superfluous,
and depending on their position in the text, all relate back
somehow to Guzman de Alfarache as a whole. Even though these
tales are all told by outsiders in Guzman's experiencing
life, he is the narrator of them all in his textual
existence. He therefore has every opportunity to play with
the scripts and to edit the stories where he sees fit. His
absence implies presence and his silence, speech, and he uses
these tales as an opportunity to make narrative points that
correlate with his own life story.

One final aspect of silence in Guzman de Alfarache
should be addressed before bringing this chapter to a close,
and that involves the curious relationship that Guzman has
with his reader. The narrator is painfully aware of the
effect that his readers can have on his text, and so he
attempts to anticipate and manipulate their responses to his

book beforehand. Within the text he creates, or

157
fictionalizes, a hypothetical reader with whom he converses
throughout. His attitude toward this reader ranges from
being friendly to defensive to antagonistic. Whitenack
describes Guzman's attitude toward his destinaire as follows:
”The reader is warned, cajoled, exhorted, flattered,
criticized, and even attacked, while at the same time assured
repeatedly of the narrator's good intentions" ("Destruction"
231). This type of reaction resembles an accute case of
paranoia,’ or perhaps schizophrenia as Carroll Johnson aptly
points out in his explanation of the narrator-reader

relationship in Guzman dnglfarache:

 

Guzman is reacting to an imaginary attack made by
an imaginary reader, who is called first xgg_and
then referred to with the impersonal §g_before
crystallizing as gg, Guzman does not really
experience the reader as hostile; he experiences
his own tendency to digress, and to offer more or
less gratuitous sermons as worthy of criticism. He
projects this attitude--his own--onto the imaginary
reader, from whom he must then defend himself. In
fact he is defending himself against himself. (49)

Guzman does an excellent job of creating the illusion of an
unfriendly reader in the text, but it is ultimately important
to remember that the hypothetical reader is just that,
hypothetical, possessing no voice of its own. The only
audible voice in the text is that of Guzman as Johnson notes:

Guzman's reader-antagonist has no objective
existence apart from Guzman...he is Guzman's
creation...the increased hostility, the accusation
of hypocritical piety are all projections of
Guzman's own attitudes. It is he who feels
uncomfortable at the thought of a moralist who is
also a criminal and it is he who detects the
element of hypocrisy in the ostentatious display of
religious devotion. (Inside 51)

The hypothetical reader is an ingenious narrative tool

158
created by Guzman in order to portray himself as the victim
of said reader's accusatory words. The illusion of
victimization of the narrator by the reader is so carefully
carried out by Guzman that it is almost believable. By using
this technique he detracts attention away from his own guilt
and then attempts to place it on his unsuspecting reader. He
blames the reader just as he blames everyone else in his text
and in society for his misfortunes. In other words, the
reader is included in his melting pot of societal anonymity
where everyone is equally evil and guilty. Upon closer
scrutiny, however, the narrator's plan backfires if we read
the text as Carroll Johnson has suggested above. The
narrator attempts to deceive the reader into believing
something that is not true by imposing a voice on an entity
that is really silent. As was the case with Sayavedra who
appeared to be able to talk for himself but was really a
voiced-over character, the hypothetical reader similarly is a
construct of Guzman's imagination. We, as real readers, are
silent in the face of Guzman's accusations. As a result we
are left with a narrator who, in the process of trying to
blame someone else for his misfortunes, reveals the true
battle raging within himself: "the uncomfortable nagging of a
part of the 19" (Johnson, Inside 52). Real readers must
remember that the textual reader is a fabrication of Guzman's
imagination. It does not have a voice of its own within the
text. If we are able to disassociate ourselves from our
fictional counterparts, then we should be able to see the

process of deceit that had been cleverly constructed by the

159
narrator in order to alter our opinion of him and of his
book. By assigning a false voice to the hypothetical reader,
Guzman attempts to distract the real reader's attention away
from his own ill fated life and from the narrative plan that
he is using to reconstruct it. He may remove himself from
our immediate field of vision, but he is always present,
manipulating from behind the scenes. Every voice in the text
is created and voiced-over by Guzman in order to distort his
fictional reality to his own advantage.

What Guzman, the narrator does not count on is an
additional narrative voice, that of the implied author, which
in turn monitors everything that he says and does. This
presence works to undermine the validity of Guzman's claims
by exposing the inconsistencies in his words. Although the
implied author's spirit is felt predominantly in the second
part with the introduction of Sayavedra and the fictional
vengeance of Marti, the reader may suspect, specifically
because of the inherent contradictions between the narrator's
words and actions, that its presence is much more prevalent
than it originally appeared to be. Friedman notes in a
comparison between the implied author of the Lazarillo and
the Guzman that: "in Guzman's narrative the implied author is
at the same time more evident and less predictable"
(Antiheroine 48). Its intrusion on Guzman's voice in part
two (and less subtely throughout the text) alters his
personality and in the meantime destroys the narrative
pretext on which the entire work rested: the conversion. The

author, Aleman manages to achieve what he wanted: the

160

creation of a superior fictional being and a successful
campaign of revenge against his literary rival, Marti. When
considered in this light, Guzman is the true victim of the
text as it is he and his goals that have been sacrificed and
silenced in order for the author to enact the intratextual
literary exorcism of his rival's character and novel.

Although it was noted at the beginning of this chapter
that Guzman dg Alfarache appears an unlikely candidate for a
study on silence, it does, as we have seen, open itself up to
an analysis of this sort. Guzman attempts to silence himself
and his guilt throughout his text by using distractionary
techniques such as digressions, moralizing sermons and
interpolated tales, but he is not always successful at
concealing his unreformed and corrupt ways. His hypocrisy is
revealed partly through his inability to successfully
separate his experiencing and narrating selves and partly
because of the implied author's presence in his discourse
which works to undermine his attempts to remain silent by
revealing certain inconsistencies between his words and his
actions. Guzman's words in the second part are no longer his
own, but are imposed upon him by his implied author who uses
him as a vehicle through which he attempts to silence the
character and the author of the spurious part two.
Therefore, Guzman becomes victimized and subverted by the
implied author who lets him take the blame for the literary
execution. As a result of the literary exorcism of
Sayavedra, Guzman's credibility is destroyed and the implied

author, having achieved what he wanted in the text, leaves

161
the narrator to perish in a mess of verbal contradictions.
Therefore, Guzman, who was initially trying to hide in

silence in the text, is ultimately silenced by that text.

162

Notes

*Benito Brancaforte, in his ‘Guzman dg Alfarache',
gConversiOn o proceso de degradacidn?, explains the concept
of doubles in Guzman de Alfarache and elucidates that
Sayavedra represents a fictional recreation of Juan Marti's
Guzman and also a double of the Guzman in Aleman's text:
"Sayavedra es el doble del caracter novelistico de Mateo
Lujan- y a la vez de Guzman de la novela de Aleman“ (96).

2Brancaforte explains the attempt by Aleman (through the
creation of Sayavedra) to first re-fictionalize the
apocryphal Guzman and to then eliminate him: "Sayavedra,
‘sombra' de Guzman necesita ser completado. Aleman rehace el
Guzman apocrifo, por medio de Sayavedra, a imagen y semejanza
de su Guzman, para luego destruirlo. Es decir, el Guzman
apOcrifo tiene que ser primero salvado como caracter
novelistico, para ser luego aniquilado...Era sombra y vuelve
a la nada" (Conversién 97).

3Friedman describes the result of Guzman's need to be
better than Sayavedra as follows: "Guzman's superiority over
Sayavedra lies in roguery and possibly in intellect, but not
in morality. In avenging Sayavedra and Marti, Guzman and
Aleman ignore the effects of the conversion on the wayward
protagonist; they forget that the narrating voice needs to
speak for comprehension and forgiveness... Guzman the
moralizer could exploit the case of foolhardy pride but
chooses not to do so. Guzman does not learn from experience,
that his goals are unrealistic" (Antiheroine 48).

“The first Guzman was produced by Aleman in part one.
The second is Marti's character in the apocryphal part two.
The third is Aleman's Guzman in the "real" part two and the
fourth is Sayavedra who is re-fictionalization of Marti's
Guzman. The point is that the Guzman of Aleman's part two
can never be the same character that he was in the first
part, because his personality changed as a result of the
introduction of the false Guzman. The Guzman of Aleman's
part two is as much a fictional response to another text as
Marti's Guzman is.

°See, for example, Jones' "The Duality and Complexity of
Guzman de Alfarache: Some Thoughts on the Structure and
Interpretation of Aleman's Novel” in Knaves and Swindlers,
33, and also Moreno Baez' Lgccibn x sentido del "Guzman gg
Alfarache", 182.

‘Morell summarizes the openness of the story as follows:
”Este final ambiguo, entre cerrado y abierto, coincide
entonces con el de su autobiografia por Guzman: cierra lo

163

acontecido en un patrén de simulacrOn e impostura pasadas y
abre la alternativa del porvenir” (115).

7When describing Guzman's relationship to his reader,
Helen Reed suggests that: "The images that Guzman uses to
describe what he fears are hyperbolic and even suggestive of
a state of paranoia...Both the images and the twisted,
tortuous form of the prose transmit the emotional
preoccupations of the author / narrator" (63).

Chapter Five
La picara Justina: Silencing the Female Voice and

Redefining the Genre

La picara Justina is a text that has suffered a barrage
of criticism for its complexity and lack of coherency‘ and
has often been shunned from any serious consideration as a
picaresque novel.2 As we have seen in previous chapters,
however, enigmatic narrative structures and a lack of
congruity do not necessarily presuppose an absence of meaning
in a text. La Qicara Justina can best be described as an
experiment in picaresque fiction writing that was designed to
make a statement about the genre, and to potentially alter
the direction that it would take in the future. There is a
conscious attempt by the author to silence certain narrative
practices that were prevalent in previous picaresque novels
such as the inclusion of moralizing lessons in texts that he
felt were meant primarily to entertain. The vehicle through
which he attempts to rewrite the genre is Justina, the feisty
pseudo-prostitute whose beauty is exceeded only by her wit.
The choice of a female narrator was a conscious act by the
author because, as a member of the weaker sex (a point that
is made clear by Lopez de Ubeda in his text), she could
easily be subverted and blamed in the event that his
picaresque experiment were to fail. Justina is really just a
mask behind which Lapez de Ubeda hides and through which he
speaks, but she nevertheless develops a degree of autonomy
from her author, if not as a character, then as a rhetorical

164

165
device as we shall see shortly.

Most of the ensuing discussion will deal with the
subversive tension that exists between a partially revealed
author and a highly voiced-over female narrator. We will see
that the silencing of Justina's interiority severely limits
her potential as a fictional character, but also allows her

to develop a strength that at times allows her to break free
of her author’s subversive hold over her. Apart from
addressing the attempts of the author to silence the female
voice, we will also discuss whether his attempts to silence
certain aspects of the picaresque genre are successful or
not.

It is fair to say that of all the narrators studied to
this point, Justina is the one who claims to say the most,
but who in reality says the least. She is also the least
psychologically developed of the picaros. She is imbued with
an air of frivolity that impedes her from sensing the
frequent and often blatant authorial intrusions in her
discourse. One of the primary characteristics that allowed
her two male predecessors to develop a certain narrative
freedom was their awareness of their ability to manipulate
point of view in order to increase the illusion of their
control over the text. Justina, on the other hand, appears
unaware of her ability to manipulate first-person narrative
to positive ends. This leads to the silencing of a
potentially powerful narrative tool as Francisco Rico aptly
points out:

En efecto, en La Qicara Justina la autobiografia es

166
un absurdo postizo: ni surge necesariamente de los
demas factores del libro (caracter, trama,
intentién), ni les afiade ningun sentido; no pasa
(con un giro acreditado) de forma vacia.
Naturalmente, el habilisimo juego con el punto de
vista, que era central en Lazarillo y Guzman, se
desvanece en la misma medida en que se falsea la
primera persona. (Punto 118)’
Without the manipulation of first-person narrative, Justina
is at a pronounced disadvantage because she has no visible
defence against the intrusions of the authorial voice.

Lacking the multiplicity and flexibility of viewpoint
that Lazaro and Guzman exhibited, it soon becomes apparent
that she, as a protagonist and a narrator, is much more
restricted by authorial constraints than were her picaresque
literary kin. Her voice becomes a rhetorical device that
appears to serve only one function, and that is to speak for
her author.‘ If this is the case, then it would appear that
Justina is a silent entity before the narrative even begins.
It will become apparent further on in this chapter, however,
that the very act of writing will authenticate Justina's
voice, even though it may not be a completely independent or
autonomous one.

Although, as we have just noted, the manipulation of the
first-person narrative is not employed in the same complex
manner or with the same amount of success that it was in the
Lazarillo and the Guzman, it still warrants some discussion
in La Qicara Justina. The manner in which she tells her life
story may seem uncomplicated and linear, but in actual fact

it is rather involved. Justina is in a similar narrating

position as Lazaro and Guzman in that, at the time of writing

167
she is an adult looking retrospetively at her past. She,
like they, can choose which stories she wishes to recount.
Unlike them, however, Justina is rarely selective about what
she talks about. She is also extremely unsuccessful at
separating her narrating ”I" from her experiencing "I",°
because there really is no difference between the two in her
case. Justina is not trying to prove that she has
experienced a change in her life, as Lazaro and Guzman were,
and so there is no reason for her to make a distinction
between the experiencing and narrating "I". In fact, it is
important to Justina's goal of proving that she is, and
always has been, a happy picara that she not experience a
change over the course of the text.

Nevertheless, Justina does attempt to manipulate point
of view through the use of foreshadowing. She constantly
mentions future events that she promises to include in
subsequent tomes. For instance, references are made to her
three marriages and to her conversion,° but these events are
never actualized in text. Their mention does, however,
influence our opinion of Justina's credibility as a narrator.
If she really did experience a conversion, then we would
expect there to be some indication to that effect in her
discourse, but there is none. She shows no signs of remorse
for her at times reprehensible behaviour, and makes no
attempts to change. It appears illogical for the narrator to
claim to have converted and then to make absolutely no
attempt to substantiate that claim in her text. By

offhandedly mentioning it and then just as quickly dismissing

168
it, she comes across as an unreliable narrator. As we have
noted in previous chapters, when characters says something
that is against their best interest or that undermines their
reliability in the text, it can point to the intrusion of the
implied author in their discourse. The mention of the
conversion appears to be a deliberate attempt by Lapez de
Ubeda to parody Guzman de Alfarache's act of contrition. By
not bringing the conversion to its textual fruition in La
Qicara Justina, he manages to silence one of the primary
elements of the Guzman to which he was opposed; the inclusion
of a moral or religious lesson in a book that was meant to
entertain.

The elusive conversion does not serve as the narrative
pretext of La picara Justina as it did in the Guzman. In
fact, La picara does not have a pretext at all. Justina
gives no specific reason why she is writing her story and has
no designated reader. She has nothing to hide and nothing to
prove and so she simply tells us her life story as a means of
entertainment. This absence of an adequate pretext appears
to free Justina of some of the narrative constraints to which
her fellow picaros were subjected. For instance, Lazaro was
attempting to prove a "case" and Guzman a conversion.
Justina, on the other hand, just has to prove that she is
happy. She appears to be free to talk about anything that
she chooses (and she frequently does). Her freedom of
expression, the concept on which the entire narrative rests,
is illusory, however, and bespeaks the manipulative presence

of the implied author who places severe limitations on her

169
voice.

Freedom is the one thing that Justina claims
emphatically to have in her life and yet it is completely out
of her reach from a narrative perspective. Actually, her
position in the text is ironic because she does live a free
experiencing life, but she is forced to do so by her author.
Therefore her freedom becomes paradoxical. The concept of
freedom is not only used to describe Justina's life, however.
It also applies to the author's more panoramic vision of the
genre to which she belongs. The goal of the text seems to be
to use Justina's life story as the vehicle through which
LOpez de Ubeda can express his views on what picaresque
fiction is and how it should be written.7 Through Justina and
her tale, he attempts to free the genre from some of the
characteristics that previously defined it in order to make
it a more open and enjoyable body of works.

An example of Lapez de Ubeda's views on how a picaro
should behave is reflected in Justina's belief that a true
picaro is meant to always be happy and never sad (as her
predecessors have been from time to time). One day, when she
finds herself on the verge of melancholy she says: "En
resolucion; como me vi sola y a peligro de dar en la secta de
la melancdlica, que es la herejia de la picaresca, determine
de irme al baile" (176). This freeing of the picara from the
solemnity of her fellow picaros places severe limitations on
the development of her personality. The supposed freedom
given to the character by allowing her only to act joyously

makes her immediately and irrefutably one dimensional. The

170
silencing of all other emotions except for gaity robs her of
her interiority and therefore of the possibility of ever
becoming a dynamic and well rounded character. If Justina's
one purpose in life is to be happy and free, then we will
only ever be exposed to that forced, superficial side of her

personality. It was through the complex emotional nature of
Lazaro and Guzman, with their negative feelings and moral
dilemmas, that we could get a glimpse of dynamic characters
who possessed a conscience and an interiority that afforded
them a unique human quality and a sense of completeness. It
is Justina's supposed freedom that radically subverts the
development of her personality.

The illusion of narrative freedom is maintained through
Justina's insistence that she is able to talk about anything.
In fact, she touts herself as being a parlona who can even
bring silent topics into the realm of speech: "...yo a los
oficios mudos hago parleros” (111). This apparent freedom of
speech is further supported by her inability to keep quiet
sometimes: "No se acabar un cuento" (209). For all of her
loquacity, she does not really tell us anything beyond the
superficiality of her day-to-day exploits. We find out
little about Justina, the person, because she is constantly
masked in an aura of forced happiness that prohibits us from
seeing her as a dynamic character. In her own words she
defines herself to the reader as:

...no 5610 parlona, en cumplimiento de la
herencia...pero loca saltadera, brincadera,
bailadora, gaitera...Colegiras de mi leyenda que

soy moza alegre y de la tierra, que me retoza la
risa en los dientes y el corazdn en los hijares y

171

que soy moza de las de castafieta y aires bola, que

como la guinda y, por no perder tiempo, apunto a la

alilla. (115)
There is no introspection whatsoever on Justina's part,
making her appear to be an empty shell (to use Rico's words).
This lack of interiority does serve a specific purpose,
however, in that it represents precisely Lapez de Ubeda's
ideas on how a picara ought to be portrayed: free of the
moral dilemmas and preoccupations that characterized the
picaros that preceeded her in text. Her interiority is
purposely silenced by Lapez de Ubeda who sees no need for a
simple picaro, whose primary function is to entertain and be
happy, to be imbued with a complex personality.

The narrators in the Lazarillo and the Guzman were
assigned an interiority that was gradually subverted by a
powerful authorial voice. In La icara Justina, the lack of
interiority from the onset makes the subversion of the
character all the more apparent. Justina is limited to
thinking and behaving in one way, and her recourse to other
parts of her emotional being is denied her by the subversive
implied author. Therefore, her personality appears
superficial and forced. Francisco Rico supports this idea
when he identifies Justina as a disjointed personage who
lacks a specific function: "En Justina--figura de
incoherencia casi escandalosa--, los oficios de ‘mirona' y
‘escritora' son sdlo otros dos pegotes a lo que incluso sin
ellos seria un desordenado hilvan de retazos humanos" (Pungo
119). Justina may possess diverse traits from various human

types but she lacks the basic emotional ingredients that

172
would allow her to develop into a dynamic persona. Something
in Justina's personality has been silenced that prohibits her
from fully authenticating herself as a fictional character.
For all of her loquacity, the reader must ask what
exactly it is that Justina tells us in her long and often

convoluted tale. The answer is that she really does not tell

us much about anything of appreciable importance, except of
course for her implied definitions of what a picaro and
picaresque fiction should be. She does recount some amusing
stories about her life, but she frequently digresses making
it difficult to follow the most linear of her tales.

Guzman's digressions, as we have noted, were self-consciously
motivated to produce specific responses in the text. In
other words, he manipulated his digressions in order to put
himself in a more advantageous textual position. Justina, on
the other hand, digresses at the drop of a hat with
apparently no ulterior motives other than the fact that she
gets carried away with her stories. Her loquacity is blamed
on the fact that she, as a woman, is prone to talk about
everything and anything, and therefore her gift for gab is
unavoidable and justified in the text.

An example of Justina's digressive nature involves her
constant self-interruption and truncation of her own
discourse. She edits her stories, but not for the purpose of
withholding information from the reader as was the case in
both the Lazarillo and the Guzman. She does so simply
because, while in the middle of one thought, she thinks of

the next thing that she wants to say, interrupts herself, and

173
then proceeds with the new idea, thus adding another story to
the loosely connected narrative whole. Self-interruption is
such a common characteristic of Justina's speech that it
looses its value as a serious editing tool. We cannot even
say that Justina is silencing stories because she is afraid
of incriminating herself, because, as we have already noted,
she has no reason to edit her text for the sake of
appearances as Lazaro and Guzman did. Although Justina seems
to have a tremendous amount to say, and for that reason is
constantly cutting herself off and moving on to the next
story, she really tells us precious little about herself.
One of the few traits that we can positively assign to
Justina is that she knows how to speak quantitatively without
communicating qualitatively.

It is only necessary to consider the sheer bulk of her
self-imposed silences to realize that she is not capable of
exploring any thought for more than a fleeting moment.
Although the list that follows is lengthy, it will serve to
give an accurate visual idea of how silence, interruption and
distraction are all devices imposed upon Justina by her
author to defer attention away from her inner self and to
severely limit the scope of her personality: "Mas, pues no
trato de eso” (71), "dAdOnde vas, hermana Justina..." (113),
"No acabara hoy si te contara por extenso sus tretas" (132),
"...gustaba mucho de platicarme todos estos ejercicios que he
referido y otros que callo“ (133), "Callo la historia de la
perra y aperreada Jezabel y otros cuentos de las historias

sacras" (136), "éDOnde vas a parar, Justina?“ (149), "Antes

174
que pase adelante, quiero contar un cuento" (154), "Pero vaya
de cuento" (155), ”Un buen decidor...ande aguda y sutilmente
sobre los hilos de la tela, pero si por desdicha encuentra en
uno solo, aquel la ase y detiene...tope en este hilo y perdi
el hilo” (173), "Tanto fue lo que me hizo callar y encallar"

(174), "No traigo a este propbsito lo de Tamar ni lo de Dina"

(183), "No quiero detener ahora en calificar este dicho"
(197), "Dijeron dichos agudos y donosos, que por agudos los
rio y por largos los callo" (208), “No se acabar un cuento;
ya se que enfado en el, pero ya acabo" (209), "Pero quién me
mete en themas, ni glosas, sino en tejer historias y en hilar
mis romerias? Pero no, mejor me sera dejarlo, que no es paro
sin venta para no dejar descansar las gentes. Yo lo dejo"
(211), ”Voy a mi cuento" (226), "Ouedése la respuesta en el
tintero, que alguna vez se duerme el buen Homero" (226-7),
"...y hay mas de cuatro que yo no digo" (243), ”Mil cosas
pudiera decir" (285), "Dejemosla, que otros mejores chistes
te dire" (299), "Ouedese aqui. Voy a mi cuento" (303),
"...por ahora no te dare cuenta del suceso del encuentro,
porque tengo que despachar otros mejores cuentos" (317),
"...cuando les parezco que mormuro, me aguarden, no me
maldigan luego. Esperenme, que, cuando no piensen, volvere
con la lechuga" (322), "...y otro tanto que callo“ (325),
"buen callar llaman santo" (333), "Mas, ahorrando de
cansadazos cuentos e historias...dire una" (341), "Pero vamos
con el cuento" (341), "...y mas que yo me callo" (345),
"...oyente mio, que aunque te parezca fuera de propdsito, me

escuches y juzques si tengo razén en una cosa que te dire"

175
(361-2), "...tornemos a poner los bolos y vaya de juego"
(363), "Va de cuento" (379), “...de que quiero callar" (406),
"...y yo callé" (421), "Ya quiero callar" (447), "Pero
dejemos esto“ (463). These silences are a normal part of
Justina's digressive discourse and serve to reinforce the
empty nature of her personality. Although they are used
innocently enough by Justina, we must consider their impact
on the text as a whole. She is permitted by her author to
speak about everything, but is never allowed to develop a
thought to such an extent that it might tell us something
meaningful about her. Therefore, her silence serves to defer
attention away from the fact that Justina is a rhetorical
device, comprised of little more than the composite of these
truncated stories. What we see of Justina in her tales is
all that we will ever see of her, because that is all she is.
There is no complex character hiding behind the digressions
as was the case in the Guzman, there is only silence.

It is also interesting to consider Justina's thoughts on
silence which are ironic, and which betray the fact that she
is unaware that her words belie her interior silence. On
silence and speech she begins by saying: "No alabo el parlar
mucho, que bien se que es gran mal" (362), and yet all
Justina does is talk. She then tells us that it is okay to
be quiet when one has nothing to say, but when one has
something to say, it should be said without reservation: "Si
el que no habla es porque no conviene, santo y bendito...pero
que ese se de a un callbn de por fuerza, es necedad, y por

tal la declaro por estos mis escritos" (363). Justina

176
obviously sees her writing as an opportunity to express
herself freely. From her image of herself as a character and
an author, her writings can thusly be perceived, but from
beyond the text, from the point of view of the reader,
Justina's so-called freedom of speech is obviously a fallacy.
We, as readers, are also in a position to see certain
inconsistencies in Justina‘s words that she does not appear
to be aware of. For instance, at one point she comments on
her role as a writer and the fact that she has opened up her
soul for us to read: "...he dado en que me lean el alma, que,
en fin, me he metido a escritora" (322). This comment is
quite ironic because after reading the text we still do not
know anything about her soul. We see nothing beyond her
empty words except a hollow silence that bespeaks the
possible presence of a subversive, framing voice.

Another textual example of the digressive nature of
Justina and the use of silence to defer attention away from
her story involves the introduction which, in its entirety,
has little to do with Justina's life. In much the same way
that Guzman created an antagonistic hypothetical reader with
whom to argue and to justify his point of view, Justina
similarly assigns voices to inanimate and silent objects,
bringing them to life and then conversing with them. For
example, she discourses with her pen, the hair on her pen,
the stain on her fingers and her skirt, the watermark on her
paper and the ink pot. All of these objects inhibit her from
"starting" her text and threaten to silence her account. For

the first few pages of the novel she remains silent about her

177
proposed goal, the story of her life, and yet she is still
constantly speaking. She identifies her pen and the hair on
the nib as possible obstacles to providing an accurate
account of her life. Personifying the pen Justina says: "No
quiero, pluma mia, que vuestras manchas cubran las de mi
vida, que (si es que mi historia ha de ser retrato verdadero,
sin tener que retratar de lo mentido), siendo picara, es
forzoso pintarme con manchas y mechas" (55). Not only is her
pen animated, but it also acquires a conscience: "De manera
que mi pluma, aprovechandose de sola la travesia de un
pelo...Solo un pelo de mi pluma ha parlado que soy pobre,
picara, tundida de cejas y de verguenza" (62). Finally,
however, Justina is able to gain control of her writing
instrument and her text, claiming emphatically that she will
not let anything silence her tale. No sooner has she
resolved herself to "start writing" (of course she has
already begun) than she notices that she has smeared ink on
her fingers, an occurrence that once again sends her off on a
tangent that is unrelated to her life story. She makes an
analogy between the stains on her fingers and her skirt and
the possible negative reaction to her book when she asks
herself:
éOue puede haber sido el haberme manchado, lo
primero los dedos, y lo segundo el vestido, sino un
pronOstico y figura de lo que me ha de suceder
acerca de mi libro, si ya no me ha sucedido? Los
dedos, cno son con quien escribo mi historia? Pues
cquien duda sino que el haber caido en ellos mancha
pronostica las muchas que han de poner o imponer a

mis escritos? (70)

Her quasi-paranoid reaction to these inanimate objects gives

178
her the strength and the incentive that she needs to embark
on her narrative mission. As was the case in the Guzman, a
voice is assigned to something that is truly silent, and the
verbal battle that goes on in the introduction is really one
that rages within the narrator herself. In terms of plot,

the introduction appears superfluous, having nothing to do

with the proposed story which, in the process of this lengthy
digression, has been displaced and silenced. On the other
hand, the introduction provides us with important information
about the act of textual composition which, considering Lapez
de Ubeda's goal to redefine the picaresque genre, is in and
of itself, one of the primary messages of the text.

Following the introduction, the author's first
agrovechimiento makes note of the trivial nature of Justina's
concerns and of the fact that she worries about unincidental
things and remains silent about her true sins: ”Tal se pinta
esta mujercilla, la cual llora la mancha de una saya como su
total ruina, y de sus inormes pecados no hace caso" (72).
This agrovechimiento provides the reader with important
information about the relationship between the author and the
narrator. First of all, the reader is put on guard because
the author informs us that Justina is guilty of some
significant sins that she has kept silent from us, which
makes us question the reliability of her account. Secondly,
we must recognize through these words that the author is not
supportive of his fictional character from the very start in
that he betrays her silence, criticizes her and makes her

look unreliable in the text. Justina not only has to suffer

179
the criticism of her phantom murmurgdorgg, she also has to
withstand the harsh words of her author who makes no attempt
to hide his negative feelings for her. In the long run, this
authorial presence will be much more detrimental to the
development of her personality and her tale than will the
gossips who she initially believes threaten her fictional
success.

Since this first agrovechimiento is so important in
delineating the possibly antagonistic relationship between
the author and his protagonist, it would be beneficial to
ponder for a moment the overall effect of these moral addenda
on the text as a whole. In many instances the messages of
the agrovechimientos appear unrelated to the numeros that
precede them, giving them the appearance of being
afterthoughts that have been tacked on. In actual fact, the
endnotes are not unlike Justina's own discourse in that they
provide us with little constructive information about the
protagonist's life. The author himself must have been aware
of the incongruous, disjointed nature of his agroveghimigntos
because he felt the need at the end of the text to reiterate
their purpose within the novel. This reiteration calls
attention to the obviously confusing and obscure nature of
the moral addenda throughout. The separation of the
agrovechimientos from the main body of the text (which is
represented by Justina's discourse) allows Justina's
narrative to develop a type of "protagonistic isolation"
(Trice 81) that gives her the illusion of having a degree of

narrative independence from the author. Unfortunately,

180
however, other aspects within the narrative serve to subvert
this aspect of control, partially silencing the protagonist's
voice and leaving her to function as a mere rhetorical device
that speaks her author's words.

We only have to consider the text of La picara Justina
visually to understand the all-encompassing and subversive
presence of her author throughout. The body of the story,
Justina's tale, is completely encapsulated, or framed, within
the surrounding words of Lopez de Ubeda. This framing
technique involves three narrative structures: the initial
poems that summarize the pending numeros, the elliptical
marginal notes that also summarize the numeros and the
aorovgchimigntog that appear at the end of each numero and
provide a moral comment. Paloma Lapez de Tamargo stresses
the important visual aspect of the framing narrative
structures when she says: "Estos posibles textos circulares
o, mas bien, ‘circundantes' constituyen un marco, no ya splo
discursivo, sino material, visual, que contribuye en alto
grado al efecto de ‘libro-emblema'" (195-6). Visually, and
narratively, Justina's tale is trapped within the inescapable
frame of the author's words. To take the idea of the
stifling frame one step further, we must consider more
closely the effect of the truncated marginal notes on the
narrative, which have often been considered superfluous to
the text and have been omitted from some editions of L§_
picara Justina. These marginal notes are the most telling
annotations with regard to the author's oppressive and

persistent presence in the text. Although they do not

181
intrude physically on the body of Justina's words, they
function as a visual distraction that nevertheless interrupts
her discourse. In and of themselves, they tell us nothing
new about the numeros that they describe, and so they must be
considered a narrative tool that is used purposely by the
author to remind us of his presence in the text. In this way
he demonstrates that he still controls the work from its
margins by inhibiting the free flow of Justina's story.

In addition to the introductory poems, elliptical notes
and the aprovechimigntos that frame each individual numero,
the author also makes sure that his are the first and last
words that we read in the text. His first words are spoken
in the gr6logo al lgctor which explains the purpose of the
book, and his final words appear in the paragraph that
follows the last agrovechimiento which serves to reiterate
the moral intention of the endnotes. In this manner, the
author not only encloses Justina within each individual
chapter, but he also ensures that he is in control of the
beginning and end of the text as well. The claustrophobic,
stifling frame within which Justina is confined is now
_complete, and she has no possibility of escape. The point of
elucidating the omniscient nature of the author, at least
visually, is to show that Justina's voice cannot possibly be
a completely independent one that is free from authorial
constraints. If Lapez de Ubeda is capable of framing her
words, then it is feasible to assume that he is present
within the body of her discourse as well, making her speak

his thoughts while he hides behind an awkwardly and

182
inadequately placed female mask. Justina's voice can be
described as a hybrid,‘ an inseparable mesh of her own
fictional being and her author's subversive voice.
One might argue that the main body of the text still
belongs structurally or spatially to the rather vociferous

Justina. It is true that she occupies centre stage in the
narration, but we must ask ourselves, does she have control
over her own discourse, or is she simply a silent mask
through which her author speaks? Similarly, does she manage
to acquire a degree of autonomy in her text or is she
completely subverted and silenced by the author's intrusions?
In order to answer these questions it is necessary to explore
the extent of the author's presence in her discourse.

One way in which we can sense the author in Justina's
words is through her preoccupation with the act of writing
and the manipulation of text. It is highly ironic that the
supposedly frivolous, lighthearted and happy picara also be
an accomplished and self-conscious narrator, editor and
author. In his prologue, LOpez de Ubeda clearly states his
own concern with his writing style and tells us that he
intends to introduce a variety of different narrative forms
to his text in order to make it more enjoyable for the
reader:

Pero sera de manera que en mis escritos temple el
veneno de cosas tan profanas con algunas cosas
utiles y provechosas, no selo en ensefianza de
flores retaricas, varia humanidad y letura, y
leyendo en ejercicio toda el arte poetica con raras

y nunca vistas maneras de composiciOn. (43)

The author, in his need to show his narrative prowess in the

183
text, imbues Justina with a similar concern for the act of
textual composition that is hardly befitting her status as an
uneducated picara. For instance, at one point in her story
Justina makes a statement about writing that reflects her
author's goal above of including a variety of different
styles and techniques in the text to entertain the reader:
Ansi mismo, pienso yo que la bondad de una historia
no tanto consiste en contar la sustancia della
cuanto en decir algunos accidentes, digo
acaecimientos transversales, chistes, curiosidades
y otras cosas a este tono con que se saca y adorna
la sustancia de la historia. (377)
The methods that Justina uses to tell her story are more
important than its rather unincidental plot. To her, and to
Lapez to Ubeda, the manner in which the story is told takes
precedence over the substance of that tale, or put another
way, the writing of the story actually becomes its
substance.’ Justina, true to her word, constantly exaggerates
and adorns her tale making it rather difficult for the reader
to follow the main thread which invariably becomes buried and
hidden beneath a barrage of meaningless chatter. Trice aptly
notes the emptiness, or silence of the plot when he says:
"...there are so many interruptions in the narrative that one
suspects that the author might have regarded the plot as
little more than a vehicle for other matters which he
considered more important" (67). This observation is
extremely important to untangling the complex web of words
that comprise Justina‘s discourse. If, as we have discussed,

Justina is an empty shell, and her plot (as Trice observed

above) is a vehicle that communicates little to the reader,

184
then we must ask ourselves what the purpose of the text is?
The answer to that question appears to be that the process of
textual composition becomes the central message and the plot
and the character that are used to communicate that message
are mere rhetorical devices that are manipulated by the
author to achieve his more important discursive goal.

This discursive goal would appear to be, not recounting
the story of the picara's life as much as rewriting the
entire picaresque genre. In his prologue, Lopez de Ubeda
clearly states his disagreement with the manner in which
previous picaresque novels were written, especially with
regard to the incorporation of didactic or spiritual messages
in books that he felt were meant primarily to entertain. The
following are his thoughts on the abuse of religious
references and other shortcomings that he observes in the
life and literature of his day:

Mas como sea verdad que el vicio es el mas valido y
sus defensores mas en numero y la verdad tan
atropellada, ya se han introducido tales y tan
raras representaciones, tan inutiles libros, que,
en la muchedumbre del vulgo que sigue esta opinibn,
ha anegado y ahogado tan sanctos consejos, cuales
son los que referido tengo destos sanctos varones,
admitiendo sin distincién alguna cualquier libro,
lectura o escrito o representacibn de cualquier
cosa por mas mentirosa y vana que sea. Y callo el
agravio que hacen, aun los mismos que escriben a lo
divino, a las cosas divinas de que tratan,
hinchendolas de profanidades y, por lo menos, de
impropriedades y mentiras, con que las cosas de
suyo buenas vienen a ser mas dafiosas que las que de
suyo son dafiosas y malas. De aqui infiero que si
el siglo presente siguiera tan docto y sano consejo
como el de estos famosos varones, no me atreviera
aun a imaginar el estampar este libro; pero
atendiendo a que no hay rincdn que no este lleno de
romances impresos, inutiles, lascivos, picantes,
audaces, improprios, mentirosos, ni pueblo donde no
se represente amores en habitos y trajes y con

185

ademanes que incentivan el amor carnal. (42)
Although not implicitely stated, this tirade against the
literature of his time appears indirectly to be a reference
to other picaresque texts, and especially to Mateo Aleman's
Guzman de Alfarache.1° La picara Justina was offered as a
response to such texts and was meant to serve as a model that
would put the genre back on track. The author describes his
book as a cure for a poison, an interesting analogy that
connotes the purging or the silencing of something inferior
or impure by something more wholesome and pure. The poison
is most likely a reference to the writing styles of authors
who used religion or morality in their texts to unreligious
or immoral ends:

...de lo que los medicos platicamos, los cuales, de

un simple venenoso, hacemos medicamento util, con

afiadirle otro simple de buenas calidades, y de esta

conmistidn sacamos una perfecta medicina purgativa

o preservativa, mas o menos, segUn el atemperamento

o conmistién que es necesaria. (emphasis mine 43)
It is very difficult to assess how successful Lopez de
Ubeda's purging of the genre has been, because the genre
itself has never been clearly enough defined to adequately
establish what kind of effect La Qicara Justina's new writing
style had on the future of picaresque fiction. Although an
unsubstantiated observation, and a topic that deserves much
more attention than can be dedicated to it here, LOpez de
Ubeda's thoughts on how picaresque fiction ought to be
written do appear to have influenced the direction of the

genre. This theory is supported by looking at the styles of

later authors such as Salas Barbadillo and Castillo Solarzano

186
who incorporated the more basic narrative techniques used by
Justina into their works, favouring the telling of a good
tale over the inclusion of excessive moral and didactic
lessons. One can say that Lapez de Ubeda was partially
successful in his endeavour. He did manage to influence a

change in the direction of the genre by silencing those
aspects of it which he deemed inappropriate.
Having established that LOpez de Ubeda was consciously
attempting to alter the direction of the picaresque genre, it
is now necessary to examine how Justina fit into his plan.
The first question that comes to mind is, why did he choose a
woman as his protagonist-narrator when the picaros before her
had been men? In order to answer this question it is first
important to establish how the author felt about women.
Almost every remark in the text regarding females is
negative. For instance, in his oralogo al lgctor, the author
says:
Porque en esto he querido persuadir y amonestar que
ya en estos tiempos las mujeres perdidas no cesan
sus gustos para satisfacer a su sensualidad, que
esto fuera menos mal, sino que hacen desto trato,
ordenandolo a una insaciable codicia de dinero; de
modo que mas parecen mercaderas, tratantes de sus
desventurados apetitos, que engafiadas de sus
sensuales gustos. Y no salo lo parece asi, pero lo
es. (43)

He also speaks negatively of the skittishness and frivolity

of women in his a rovechimientos, but the majority of the

negative remarks about women come from Justina's own mouth.

The fact that Justina frequently degrades her own sex is

completely illogical and bespeaks the possible presence of

the implied author in her words. Women are subjected to a

187
process of subversion in the text that places them in a
subordinate position to men. The order of supremacy is very
clearly delineated from the beginning of the text: "...el
hombre fue hecho para ensefiar y gobernar...La mujer fue hecha
principalmente para ayudarle...a la propagacién del linaje
humano y a cuidar de la familia" (97). Societally, woman
functions as a tool, as an instrument whose purpose is to aid
the male and to further the human race. This theory is also
reflected narratively in the text where Justina, the woman,
becomes a rhetorical device, employed, controlled and
subverted by the more powerful male author, to speak his
words without question or complaint. Writing initially
represents an opportunity for Justina to break free of the
repressive bonds of her "inferior" gender and to create a
voice for herself. The text itself impedes her narrative
freedom, however, by stating that the writings of a woman are
inferior because the act of textual composition requires
thought, and women do not think. This disparaging remark on
female discourse is presented through the words of a discreto
to whom Justina refers in her story:
Decia un discreto: -¢Las mujeres, por que pensais
que hablan delgado y sutil y escriben gordo, tarde y
malo? Yo os lo dire: es porque lo que se habla es
de repente y, para de repente, son agudas y
subtiles, por esto es su voz apacible, sutil y
delgada. Mas porque de pensado son tardas, broncas
e ignorantes, y el escribir es cosa de pensado, por
eso excriben tardo, malo y pesado. (205)
Justina's own discourse reflects most of the negative

characteristics discussed by the discreto. For instance, she

speaks quickly, interrupting herself frequently and rarely

188
completing a thought. The fact that she does not argue with
this statement, and that her entire text reflects this
negative image of female discourse, bespeaks the presence of
a male author who can conveniently blame any shortcomings in
the narrative on the inadequate writing style of a verbose,

flighty woman. Justina is a scapegoat who serves as the

author's cover, as his assurance and protection against
possible negative criticism. What better mask to use than an
easily subverted, easily silenced female who appears to
believe in, and agree with (at least textually), her
subordinate position in life.

The presence of the authorial voice in Justina's words
is often so blatant in the narrative that it is hard to
believe that the picara is given any opportunity to develop
an identity of her own. A very poignant case in point occurs
early in the text when Justina exclaims: "Mas iayl, que se me
olvidaba que ero mujer y me llamo Justina" (emphasis mine
79). It is clear from this apparently clumsy, but extremely
self-conscious statement that the female mask is simply a
facade from the beginning. Therefore, Justina's
"protagonistic isolation" is also an illusion because her
male author's words "inhibit (and often inhabit) her
discourse" (Antiheroine 220).

There is a great deal of logic to LOpez de Ubeda's use
of a female rather than a male narrator in this particular
work of fiction. The author appears to have conducted a
literary experiment that had the potential for arousing

controversy and negative criticism from his reading public.

189
By putting the illusion of control in the hands and the words
of the female narrator he disassociated himself sufficiently
from the text to be out of the immediate reach of criticism.
He added the aprovechimigntog to the end to further distance
himself from the immoral ways of his picara, making it seem
as though she is the sole author of her actions. If the
text, the picaresque experiment, were to be received
negatively, then the narrative shortcomings could easily be
blamed on Justina, an entity who gives the illusion of having
acted and spoken of her own free will. Justina, precisely
because she is a woman, can easily be silenced. If, however,
the text were to receive critical acclaim, LOpez de Ubeda
could just as easily take the credit for it by reclaiming
Justina as his own narrative creation. His conscious
intrusions on the main body of the narrative, such as having
Justina say that she forgot that she was a woman, assure that
his presence and control over her discourse can be surmised
in the event of success, and yet conceal him sufficiently so
that if the book is received negatively, his presence in her
words can just as easily be refuted because of his implied
and not physical presence.

Creating a critical, narrative distance between author
and character is essential if Lapez de Ubeda wishes to come
out a winner in the event of either negative or positive
critical response. This distance, however, does allow
Justina a brief opportunity to develop an identity that could
save her from complete silence and anonymity. If we consider

/
Lapez de Ubeda's conscious plan of distance and control in

190
reverse, then it should be feasible to assign some
credibility to Justina's voice as well, some shred of
independence that escapes the possessive grasp of her male
author. It is not possible to state that Justina acquires a
truly female voice because she is clearly a "protean form"
(Damiani, ngg;_70), possessing both male and female
qualities. Although the entire concept of gender is an
important consideration in the text, it is subordinate to the
author's more important narrative goal of redefining the
picaro and the genre. In other words, the gender mask simply
becomes another technique in the narrative "juguete"u that
La picara Justina is.

In terms of gender supremacy, Lapez de Ubeda's attempt
to subordinate femaleness to maleness is not entirely
successful because his female character, at least in terms of
her wit and ingenuity, is by far superior to all of the
secondary male characters in the text. In comparison to
Justina, these personae are colourless and unimaginative.
There is a contradiction within the text in that the author
attempts to subvert Justina (as woman) and set her up for a
fall, but in the process he places her in a position of
obvious superiority over her male suitors and peers. As far
as her role as a narrator and author is concerned, her text
disputes a woman's ability to adequately pen a text, but the
body of narrative that is assigned to her is, in technique
and style, far more entertaining than those framing devices
that are specifically ascribed to the male author. In fact,

because of the inconsistent and dry nature of the

191

agrovechimientos, the reader is tempted to lend less credence
and attention to his words than to Justina's. Trice notes
the following with regard to the incongruity of the author's
endnotes:

By its pompous tone, and its complete failure to

understand the content of its pertinent numero, the

risable effects of the agrovechimiento is

heightened to the point at which the reader begins

to imagine a dithery, priggish churchman lecturing

his congregation on a kind of sin of which he is

totally unaware in his personal experience. (170)
Therefore, when it comes to writing, that which pertains to
Justina (in a structural sense), is more interesting and
appealing than the author's own self—professed words. The
segregation of the two writing styles allows Justina's
portion of the text to be considered temporarily superior,
giving her a certain degree of autonomy from her author.12

In addition to her supremacy over the males in her text
and her role as the primary storyteller, she is also given
the dubious distinction of considering herself to be the
queen of all the picaros.13 A character who claims supremacy
not only over a sex (indirectly) and a text, but over an
entire genre, cannot be considered a silent entity. With the
exception of some passing remarks by the author in one of his
summarizing poems,14 Justina is the one, within the mainframe
of the narrative, who redefines the genre, not her author.
Her voice becomes a powerful narrative tool that

attempts to deconstruct and then reconstruct the picaresque
genre. Her daring opinions and definitions open her up to

all kinds of criticism, while her author hides behind her

mask and within his empty framing devices. Trice aptly

192
describes Justina's dynamic presence and her role as an
extension of her author's personality as follows: "...she
functions as a lightning rod, drawing criticism away from
him, and when the haughty L6pez de Ubeda wishes to be humble,
he can do so through Justina" (181). Even though we can
sense Lepez de Ubeda's presence throughout, his partial
withdrawal from Justina's words allows her to acquire a voice
within the narrative. She is also donned with a sense of
courage that is made possible because of the fact that the
author deprived her of an interiority and a sense of
conscience. As a result of her inability to express or feel
a multitude of emotions, Justina is unaware of, and oblivious
to, negative criticism. She does not fear or lament as her
fellow picaros did, because she is not imbued with those
feelings. Therefore, she has nothing to loose by speaking
out about the genre, and so she does so openly. This
psychologically devoid persona thus communicates an
uninhibited forcefulness and strength in her discourse that
is lacking in her author's framing words. LOpez de Ubeda,
who can be hurt by criticism, can be seen hiding
apprehensively behind Justina's powerful words.

Finally, it is important to note the double subversion
to which Justina is subjected as a narrator and as a woman.
Lapez de Ubeda created Justina as a rhetorical device that is
allowed to speak, but is continually monitored and severely
restricted by his pen, and as a woman who could easily be
stifled and silenced if the need should arise. Justina is

not allowed the freedom to develop psychologically as a woman

193
or as a narrator. She can superficially be considered a
character, but she does not possess many of the mental
qualities that would allow her to become a dynamic,
interactive character as her picaresque predecessors were.
Rey Hazas notes the following with regard to Justina's empty

personality: "...no interesa en absoluto crear un ser de

autentica calidad humana, sino un ente, hecho a trompiciones"
("Compleja" 91). Therefore, as a character, in the sense
that we consider Lazaro and Guzman to be characters, she is
subverted and silenced from the beginning. She is created
without the ability to feel and without interiority, which
gives her the appearance of being mechanical and forced. As
a narrative tool, however, Justina speaks eloquently and
forcefully in the text, possessing a strength that can be
assigned primarily to her voice and not to that of her
concealed author.

In conclusion, Justina never manages to acquire a truly
female voice, nor does she manage to develop into a dynamic
character, because of her lack of interiority. She does,
however, acquire a voice as a rhetorical device" that at
times speaks louder than her author. The text itself also
acquires a voice that communicates LOpez de Ubeda's thoughts
on how picaresque fiction ought to be written. The author
was successful at silencing certain aspects of the genre that
he deemed inapporpriate for that type of fiction. For
instance, he silenced the interiority of his picara and
removed all material of a religious or moral nature from the

text. Therefore, he seems to have produced that which he set

194
out to produce--a Libro de entretenimiento. The cost of
"success" was high, however, because in the process of
redefining the genre, he had to sacrifice the element of
conflict (between the picara and the author, the reader, the
text, society and herself) that initially made picaresque
fiction such an intriguing body of works. Because of its
deviance from prior picaresque norms, La picara Justina has
been labelled by Rico as a contributor to "la via muerta”
(140) of the picaresque genre. In its attempts to silence
certain narrative tendencies in previous texts, Lapez de
Ubeda's novel ironically silences itself through its own

narrative inadequacies.

195

Notes

1Rey Hazas identifies the lack of coherency and
organization of La icara Justina, but he sees this absence
as a message in itself, an identifying characteristic of what
the author meant the text to be: "Las aventuras de
Justina...no estan organizadas ni jerarquica ni
coherentemente, ya que son una mera serie de sucesos
unificados por el personaje, que es a la vez protagonista y
narrador, pero que no 105 encamina ordenadamente hacia ningun
lugar definido...De ahi la exigua calidad narrativa del Libro
de entretenimiento. Y es que el desorden no implica
necesariamente falta de justificacién, aunque si carencia de
sentido vital y realista...no hay que buscar justificaciones
novelescas en La Picara Justina, porque como narracion es
bastante floja" (181). Also see Francisco Rico's, La novela

picaresca y el punto de vista (118).

2Trice observes the anomolous nature of La Qicarg

Justina and instead of labeling it as a picaresque novel, he
identifies it as a ”picaresque inspired" (193) text. He
further notes the difficulty in attempting to classify the
text into a specific literary category when he says that it
is: "...neither completely Renaissance nor Baroque. It is a
mutant...whose recessive genes were not to become dominant
until they finally surfaced in the Spanish baroque some years
later" (196). Alberto del Monte similarly has difficulty in
labeling La picara Justina as a picaresque novel: "Pese a
algunos datos estructurales-pseudo-autobiografia, genealogia,
peregrinajes de aventura en aventura-La Picara Justina no es
una novela picaresca sino la burla de un bufOn de corte que,
aprovechando el exito de la novela de Aleman, utiliza una
problematica etico-social para burlarse de esta y complacer a
sus sefiores. Por ello, las obras de Marti y de Lapez de

beda sefialan una involucibn realista del genero" (Itinerario
104). Finally, Marcel Bataillon also shies away from
identifying La Qicara Justina as a picaresque novel and
instead choses to call it a work of "ficcibn mascarada"
(Picaros 187).

3Although Rico is one critic who emphasizes the
emptiness of the plot of La picara Justina and the misuse of
the pseudo-autobiographical ”I", he does state that the
inconsistencies and masking devices might present some hidden
challenges for the reader to uncover. In other words, he
appears to be saying that there is possibly a baroque
treasure of concealed meanings and messages within the
inconsistencies of the narrative structure itself that are
waiting to be unveiled: "Esa continua ambiguedad del ‘yo'
narrativo...puede acarrear una significacibn peculiar (pero
muy secundaria) en La picara Justina: puede, por caso,
entenderse como sintoma de otras ambiguedades de contenido.

196

Marcel Bataillon ha visto la novela plagada de claves
enigmaticas, de encubiertas referencias a la actualidad
cortesana; y ha conjeturado que los coetaneos bien enterados
debian de seguir la lectura en dos planos, complaciendose en
el double entendre. Pues si Bataillon esta en lo cierto...el
obvio disfraz del ‘yo' tal vez cumpla la misidn de apuntar
que muchas personas, lugares y cosas aparecen tambien con
disfraz, preparando asi al lector para el gustoso ejercicio
de quitarles la mascara" (Punto 120).

“Several critics have touched upon the fact that Justina
is simply a mouthpiece for her author's thoughts. For
instance, Trice observes that the voices of the narrator and
the author are often indistinguishable: "The boundaries are
often blurred, then, between the author and his protagonist
and the reader must simply accept Justina as she is without
worrying very much over her improbable erudition" (162), and
he goes on to say "...Justina is really just the medium
through which the author speaks" (165). Rey Hazas similarly
believes that Justina lacks individuality, because of the
all-pervasive presence of the author in her words: ”Justina
no tiene individualidad de ninguna clase, porque es un
trasunto de las ideas y pensamientos de su autor, que la
bambolea de un lado para otro sin mas guia que su capricho"
("Precisiones" 177). Also see Luz Rodriguez' "Aspectos de la
primera variante femenina de la picaresca espafiola“ (177).

°Friedman notes the irrelevancy of the duality of
temporal point of view in La picara Justina when he says:
"...the narrating voice is a composite of past and present.
The text barely reflects the dual temporal scheme however.
There is no interplay between an unreflective past and a
reflective present nor a dialectic of experience and
contemplation, and there is negligible difference between the
Justina of the introduction and the Justina of book IV"
("Man's Space" 121).

°Justina foreshadows her conversion when she says:
"...en el ultimo tomo, en que dire mi conversiOn" (303).

7Damiani outlines Lapez de Ubeda's theories on
picaresque fiction writing as follows: "Against the coherent
structure of well-delineated ideological intention of Guzman;
Ubeda creates a novel that is inorganic in its architectonic
form as well as devoid of any authentic doctrinal intent"
(LOQez 67), and "...he underlines his basic theory of the
picaresque novel as an entertaining art form, a work designed
to move the reader to laughter the ideal antidote to man's
weariness and boredom" (Lagez 73).

'The idea of Justina being a hybrid character,
possessing characteristics of both herself and her author, is
elucidated by Edward Friedman who states: "The
interdependence of author and narrator mark an impressive
collaboration that nonetheless precludes discursive freedom

197

for Justina" ("Man's Space" 118). This study has attempted
to show that it is specifically the manipulation of distance
and control that allows Justina to acquire a degree of
autonomy from her author.

’Rey Hazas points out that the text itself is a message,
and that its very picaresqueness gives it its r ason for
existing fictionally: "...el libro de Lapez de Ubeda no tiene
razdn de ser, si no es como novela picaresca“ ("Precisiones"
182). This idea partially substantiates the argument that it
is the attempt to alter the direction of the genre that takes
precedence over the plot of Justina's life story. The means
become an end, and the writing of the tale becomes as
important as the tale itself.

1°Damiani in his introduction to La picara Justina
discusses the possibility that La picara was offered as a
response to Guzman dg Alfarache: "La Qicara Justina es obra
de burlas, contradicciones e ironias, destinadas a
ridiculizar la estructura y filosofia del Guzman--y por
extentiOn--el sistema de todas aquellas obras que como el
libro de Aleman, proponian sacar provecho de la narracibn de
la vida de un individuo pecaminoso" (8).

nIn his ordloqo al lector, LOpez de Ubeda refers to his
text as a "juguete" (42), and Marcel Bataillon identifies Lg
Qicara Justina as a "juego picaresco" (Picaros 39).

12Edward Friedman affirms this theory when he says:
"While the author has the last word in each section, Justina
has the major voice, even if it is not entirely her own...In
the text proper, he assumes the task of guardian of morality,
while, at least quantitatively, Justina dominates the
discourse. The interdependence of author and narrator mark
an impressive collaboration that nonetheless precludes
discursive freedom for Justina" ("Man's Space" 118). The
word quantitatively is important here, as we have already
discussed that the quality of Justina's words basically
implies emptiness and silence. The words that she does
utter, however, do allow her to acquire a voice that,
although not truly her own, is not completely that of her
author either. Once again, the idea of a hybrid voice comes
to the fore. As a pure rhetorical device, even lacking a
precise gender and psychological depth, Justina still
actualizes herself through words.

13Justina describes herself as: "picara de ocho
costados” (106), "soy picara de la macha martillo" (106),
"picara de tres altos" (271) and "picara de prima" (272), to
mention just a few.

1L“This introductory poem by Lapez de Ubeda reflects
Justina's belief that she is not only the queen of the
picaros but is also superior to all of her literary
predecessors:

198

Yo soy due-

Oue todas las aguas be-
Soy la rein- de Picardi-,
Mas que la rud- conoci-,
Mas famo- que dofia Oli-
Oue Don Ouijo- y Lazari,
Oue Alfarach- y Celesti-
Si no me conoces cue-

Yo soy due-

Oue todas las aguas be-

‘9Friedman notes that Justina, and other female
protagonists, do manage to acquire a voice and an identity,
even though it may not be truly their own: "Like their male
counterparts, the female protagonists achieve an identity in
spite of the factors that work against them, and some manage
to escape the silence that threatens their discursive
authority“ (Antiheroine 72), and specifically about Justina's
role in the text he says that she "has the major voice, even
if it is not entirely her own" (Antiheroing_88).

198

Yo soy due-

Oue todas las aguas be-
Soy la rein- de Picardi-,
Mas que la rud- conoci-,
Mas famo- que dofia Oli-
Oue Don Ouijo- y Lazari,
Oue Alfarach- y Celesti-
Si no me conoces cue-

Yo soy due-

Oue todas las aguas be-

1°Friedman notes that Justina, and other female
protagonists, do manage to acquire a voice and an identity,
even though it may not be truly their own: "Like their male
counterparts, the female protagonists achieve an identity in
spite of the factors that work against them, and some manage
to escape the silence that threatens their discursive
authority“ (Antiheroine 72), and specifically about Justina's
role in the text he says that she "has the major voice, even
if it is not entirely her own" (Antiheroine 88).

Chapter Six

Pablos de Segovia: Defying Silence in El BuscOn

Silence becomes an important consideration in El Buscén
whose modus operandi is the interplay between appearance and
reality. When a character is disguised or masked, as Pablos
constantly is, it implies that something about him is being
concealed or silenced. The fictional situation of El Buscbn
not only instructs us that appearances are deceiving, but
also that the underlying truth will always prevail. Pablos'
fictional existence depends upon this cycle of deceit and
revelation. His various attempts at social ascension through
the donning of different masks fail because his disguises are
removed one by one to consistently expose the picaro beneath
them. Despite the self-defeating nature of his role-playing,
however, Pablos never gives up the fight against the
limitations placed upon him by society. It is the purpose of
this chapter to demonstrate that Pablos uses silence as a
narrative technique throughout the text, but that he is not a
silent character. He is rather an extremely self-conscious
narrator who, through a carefully contrived text, continues
his attempt to assert himself, continually refusing to be
silenced.

In order to demonstrate that the protagonist / narrator
is not a silent, but cohesive character, the following
aspects of silence will be addressed. First, an examination

of how the silencing of an adequate pretext and prologue

199

200
yields a voice, and therefore significant textual authority,
to the narrator. Secondly, the apparent silencing of the
experiencing "I" by the narrating "I" will be shown to be a
technique that is deliberately used by the adult narrator,
not to silence the boy, but to authenticate his own existence

through the illusion of narrative subversion. Thirdly, the

progressive silencing of the fictional destinaire and of
other characters will be explored to expose the self-
consciousness of the narrator from the beginning. Fourthly,
the enigmatic, elliptical final sentence will be discussed at
some length in order to establish whether or not Pablos
attempts to make a moral point through his text or if simply
gives theillusion of morality in order to hide something
else about himself. Finally, the relationship between the
author and narrator will be examined, concentrating on the
conspicuous silence of Ouevedo in Pablos' discourse, and the
effect that it has on both of them and on the text as a
whole.

From the very first page of El BuscOn silence is a
factor. The prologue, an integral component of the
picaresque novels that preceded it, is here missing.
Previously the prologues were used to set up a relationship
between the author and the protagonist / narrator, and to
give the reader instructions on how to approach the book. In
its place here, we have a short piece entitled Al Lector
whose very authorship is questionable. Many believe that
these brief introductory words were written, not by Ouevedo,

but by the bookseller Roberto Duport.1 Regardless of who its

201
author is, however, the words set the tone nicely for what is
to follow in Pablos' discourse. The words and attitude of
the Alngctor segment demonstrate that the "author"2 is not
preoccupied with the reader's reaction to the text, because
he is already convinced as to its great worth. He rather
pompously says to the reader: "Sea empero lo que quisieres,
dale aplauso, que bien lo merece" (78). This self-assurance
is reminiscent of Pablos' own confidence and egotism, and
suggests that there may be some kind of affinity or
connection between the narrator and the "author" from the
start. It is also important to note that the"author's"
preoccupation with the novel is directed outwardly to the
reader instead of inwardly to comment on the contents of the
text and the personality of the picaro (as was the case in
the previous picaresque prologues). From these brief
introductory remarks we do not know how the “author" feels
about Pablos because he never discusses the fictional world,
preferring to remain separate from it. He is more concerned
that we buy the book than with our possible reactions to it.
The "author's" lack of commentary about the character
suggests that there is no antagonism or friction between
them, allowing Pablos to acquire a considerable amount of
narrative freedom from the beginning. The self—imposed
distance established between the ”author" and the intricacies
of the text portray him as a detached and silent spectator
who, on the surface, withdraws to let his character, Pablos,
take centre stage. In a world that is based on appearances,

however, we can rest assured that the "author's" absence is

202
superficial and that his silence and distance from his
character are self-conscious acts.
Although Ouevedo may have been the author of the QL
Lector section, it is almost preferable for the present study
to assume that he did not write it. The "complete" absence

of the author would make the role of the narrator appear all

the more autonomous. Nevertheless, the preliminary words in
the Al Lector section do little to influence our opinion of
Pablos, who is disregarded here by an "author" who seems
unconcerned about the character's ability to take control of
the text.

From the silence of the "author" in the first section,
we can move directly to the silence of the narrator in the
second, the Carta Dedicatoria. These six brief lines provide
us with two rather important enigmas. -The first is the
absence of an adequate pretext for the writing of the book.
The narrator simply tells us that a certain vuestra merced
(who is the second mystery) requested that Pablos give an
account of his life: "Habiendo sabido el deseo que v. m.
tiene de entender los varios discursos de mi vida" (80). We
do not know who vuestra merced is or why he is so anxious to
learn about Pablos' squalid existence. Another reason given
by Pablos for writing the book, which is just as curious and
unexplained, is so that others will not have the opportunity
to beat him to it and to lie about him: "...por no dar lugar
a que otro (como en ajenos casos) mienta" (80), the "ajenos
casos" perhaps being an intertextual reference to what

happened to Guzman in the false part two. This statement is

203
extremely ironic because Pablos' entire text, under the
pretense of telling the truth and disclosing everything about
his life, is a lie that serves to conceal rather than reveal
information. Pablos also states that his book will give
pleasure to others in order to lift their spirits in times of
sadness: "...no le sera pequefio alivio para los ratos
tristes" (80). After reading the text, however, it seems
unlikely that Pablos, still the self-centred character that
he always was, would go out of his way to humiliate himself
in order to cheer us up. Therefore, each one of the
explanations given by the narrator for the composition of the
text is suspicious and inadequate. He appears to be hiding
something from the beginning. It is clear from the el_Lector
segment and the Carta Dedicatorig that the text is not what
it first appears to be, providing inadequate answers to the
obvious questions a reader might ask.

As in the picaresque novels that preceded it, El BUSEOn
provides a divided point of view between the narrating adult
and the experiencing youth. The first word that we read in
the text proper is the resounding "Yo" of the adult narrator
who appears eager to begin his account and to assert himself
in a position of authority. In an attempt to be completely
compliant with vuestra merced's request for the story of his
life, Pablos appears to tell all about his childhood,
summarily humiliating and subverting his youthful
counterpart, and himself remaining unscathed in the narrative
attack. In the process of disclosing everything about the

boy, Pablos detracts attention away from himself, remaining

204
silent about his present situation. When we examine the
narrator carefully, we realize that we know nothing about his
experiencing present. We are not even sure when the act of
composition takes place, except that it is sometime after a
disastrous excursion to the Indies. By remaining silent
about his narrating present and revealing incriminating
details about the youth's past, Pablos appears to purposely
drive a wedge between what he once was and what he now is.
Portraying the boy as a contemptible character, the narrator
sets himself apart, thereby implying that he is now a changed
man.

The distance between them and the image of the reformed
narrator is, as we shall see, an illusion. The narrator
purposely manipulates point of view to make it appear as
though he is no longer like his former self. His silence
about his own present, however, betrays the fact that he may
still have something to hide, and that he may not be that
different from the youth that he is apparently trying to
destroy. Pablos' own text will ultimately expose the truth
about him, as his claims to full disclosure about his past
are made suspect by his reticence in the present. He is
unsuccessful at silencing his youthful counterpart because,
no matter how hard he tries to convince us otherwise, the boy
is still an important part of his personality and therefore
cannot be destroyed without also jeopardizing his own,
present existence.

A technique used to promote the illusion of distance

between narrator and youth is the problematic, elliptical

205

last line, which presents itself as a "non-conclusion”.3 The
brief, enigmatic phrase: "...nunca mejora su estado quien
muda solamente de lugar, y no de vida y costumbres" (292),
that itself appears out of place and incongruous with the
verbose nature of the discourse that directly preceded it,“
has produced a wide range of critical responses. Due to its
serious, reflective tone, some critics consider the phrase to
provide a moral lesson that itself explains the reason for
the text's existence.° By adopting this critical posture, the
narrator's humiliating portrayal of the boy can be explained
as the means by which the now reformed adult, realizing his
past mistakes, can look back in contempt at what he once was
and with pride at what he now is. He thereby disassociates
himself from the boy and also from the critical attention of
the reader. As narrator, he is in a safe place from whence
he can manipulate the fictional situation and appear
detached. In order for this explanation of the reformed
narrator to be feasible, however, the change in Pablos would
have to be verifiable. The last sentence may suggest that a
change has occurred, but nowhere in the text is it clearly
substantiated. Furthermore, the narrator's unwillingness to
explain the last line and to elaborate upon it suggests that
perhaps a change has not occurred and that the narrator is
not all that different from the boy.

The apparent distance between narrator and character can
further be refuted by identifying those characteristics that
the two have in common. Had a change truly occurred in the

adult, the reader would expect him to be a little more humble

206
in his approach to his text and his audience. Instead, his
assertion of self-worth, by way of the consistently forceful
”Yo", ties him intimately to the boy who was just as self-
assured and arrogant. Pride and the assertion of the "Yo"
are two factors that connect the youth and the adult

throughout their fictional life.

Another similarity between the adult and the boy is
their common need to conceal and silence the truth about
themselves. This is achieved through the constant changing
of masks and roles in order to cover up the protagonist's
true identity. In society Pablos never reveals information
about himself, as his silence is what allows him to continue
the facade of his assumed roles. His reticence, however, is
always short lived, as factors, or other characters from his
past, consistently manage to unmask him and to expose him for
what he truly is; a picaro. Even though he is always found
out, he continues to don different masks in a self-defeating
and self-effacing attempt to continue to be seen as another,
thus remaining silent about his true identity. The adult
narrator also betrays the boy's silence, however, by
disclosing in text everything that the latter had tried to
conceal in society through the donning of masks. The act of
disclosure initially appears to function as a means of
silencing the boy, but upon closer scrutiny, it also
functions as a mask which itself conceals a more telling
truth about the narrator. In the process of condemning
Pablillos, Pablos purposely conceals information about

himself. The cycle of silence-revelation, by which the youth

207
had survived, is here perfectly replicated in the narrator's
own disclosure and reticence. He gives the appearance of
being a cooperative, fully compliant narrator, but his
silence at the end betrays the fact that he has something to
hide, as the boy always did, and that his role as narrator
may be just another mask donned by the picaro to give the
appearance of being something that he is not. The cycle has
not been broken and neither have the ties that exist between
the adult and the youth. The self-imposed distance between
the two entities must be seen as an illusion as we learn that
Pablos is not a different man, he has simply become a more
skillful dissimulator, a more mature version of his former
self. Just as the young Pablos was always revealed for what
he really was, so the adult Pablos must also be unmasked by
the reader. His silence will likewise be short lived if we
read the text carefully and realize that what Pablos does not
say is as important, if not more important, than what he does
say. It reveals to us that no change has occurred in his
personality and that the past pattern of the youth's
existence is reflected in the textual present of the
narrator.

Although the adult appears to alienate himself from the
boy, there is really a logical sequence in the development of
Pablos' personality. The pride of the character is a
constant in both the boy and the adult. The protagonist is a
confident, self-centred individual from the start who has a
consistently high opinion of himself and his unrealistic

goals: “...siempre tuve pensamientos de caballero desde

208
chiquito" (86), and "...yo queria aprender virtud
resueltamente, y ir con mis buenos pensamientos adelante"
(89). The adult narrator does not apologize for these
pretentious remarks and never says that they are wrong, which
leads the reader to believe that he may still share those
opinions with Pablillos. The narrator's silence here when he
could easily have commented on the pretentiousness of the
youth's goals, betrays the fact that the adult is not
necessarily opposed to what the boy did. In fact, there is
evidence in his attitude toward the youth that he actually
applauds his actions, suggesting that he has not changed with
regard to his continued belief in his own self-worth and
importance. This idea is supported by the ever present ”yo"
of the narrating voice that is continually asserting itself
as Pablillos had asserted his own "yo” in the past.

The first few chapters of the novel set up a dual image
of Pablos as an egotistical, self-centred youth and
conversely as a victim of verbal and physical abuse. For
instance, his high opinion of himself is apparent in such
phrases as: "Fui, sefior, a la escuela; recibibme muy alegre,
diciendo que tenia cara de hombre agudo y de buen
entendimiento" (90), and when he leaves Alcala for Segovia he
conceitedly describes how everyone loved him and was sorry to
see him leave: "Al fin, yo sali tan bienquisto del pueblo,
que deje con mi ausencia a la mitad del llorando" (151).
Pablos always claims to have made a good impression on people
even though we may suspect that the opposite is true. In

addition to these pompous claims to self-importance, however,

209
he is also portrayed as an innocent victim. When the boys at
school call him "hijo de una puta y hechicera" (92), Pablos
tell us "Todo lo sufria" (92). Similarly, when one of the
boys suggests that he could be the child of any number of men
considering his mother's reputation, the boy runs home for
consolation only to be confronted with an unfeeling mother
who does not deny the allegation: "...que esas cosas, aunque
sean verdad, no se han de decir” (93). The poor treatment of
Pablos by his parents and his classmates allows him to be
perceived as an innocent victim. Why would a narrator who
seems bound and determined to destroy his association with
his former self portray the character as an innocent child
unless there is still a connection between the two?

Pablos' self-centredness and egotism can further be
explained (and perhaps partially excused) through a brief
examination of his relationship with his parents (which is
not based on love and understanding but on financial gain).
For instance, the father's sadness upon the death of Pablos'
brother is not that of a father grieving the loss of his son,
but of a man who has lost his best accomplice in the purse
cutting business. Similarly, both parents are primarily
concerned, not with Pablos' well being, but with the money
that he might earn for them. His parents are also great
believers in appearances, and silencing the truth about their
respective illegal activities becomes essential to their
survival. Their emotional detachment and their belief in
appearances are the two most important traits that Pablos

learns from them. Later on when both of his parents are

210
caught and the truth about their criminal activities is
revealed, one might have thought that Pablos would realize
that dissimulating and concealing information is ineffective
as it will always lead to the truth. Interestingly enough,
however, he, at this point in the text, is identical to his
parents. His two concerns are with financial advancement
(claiming his inheritance) and with keeping up appearances
(pretending to be a gentleman). He shows no signs of sorrow
at his parents' demise, and in fact appears pleased by the
profitable turn of events when he says: "...holgueme en
parte" (149). Although his emotional emptiness may appear
contemptible to the reader, it is also understandable
considering what he has been exposed to in his young life.
He treats his parents with the same lack of feeling as they
treated him. In his attempts to escape from them he has
become just like them; a replica of everything negative in
them that he once despised.

Pablos does not appear to recognize the similarities
between his own and his parents' behaviour, and so it is
ironic that it is out of shame for his parents' depravity
that he leaves home: "...determinado de coger lo que pudiese
en breves dias, y salirme de casa de mi padre: tanto pudo
conmigo la vergfienza” (93). This sense of shame, although an
emotion that comes from within (one of the few that Pablos
exhibits), is directed outwardly and is concerned only with
what others will think of him and not with how his
dysfunctional family background might effect his emotional

development and well being. When he finally does decide to

211
break the ties with his parents, it is significant that he
does so through a letter. The text, although we are not
privy to the actual words, communicates a lie in order to
silence the truth about Pablos' feelings for his parents.
After openly telling vuestra merced that he is mortified by
their actions and for that reason decides to leave home, he
then, in the letter, tells his parents a completely different
story stating that he is leaving to save them money and
trouble: "...renunciaba la escuela por no darles gasto, y su
casa para ahorrarlos de pesadumbre" (98-9). This
contradiction between what Pablos tells vuestra merced and
what he tells his parents communicates two different messages
in the text. First, it places the reader in a privileged
position where he is a party to certain of Pablos' thoughts
that his parents are not. Second, however, the contradiction
necessarily raises questions about the narrator's
reliability. The letter is used to distance the character
from his immediate circumstances. It is a safe and indirect
way of communicating without the repercussions that a face-
to-face conversation would involve. Therefore, it can be
considered a means of escape and of communicating while still
concealing the truth. The writing of the letter to his
parents is the only safe way that Pablos can find to assert
himself without revealing his true feelings and putting
himself at risk. If text (in the form of the letter) is used
to dissimulate and silence information from the very
beginning, then the reader must ask whether Pablos could be

using his own text, the book that we are reading, to a

212
similar end. The written word becomes a means through which
the narrator can silence the truth and distance himself from
certain situations. Ultimately, however, the text will
betray him because it will catch him in a web of
contradictions that will bespeak his dissimulation and expose
him as the fraud that he really is, and consciously knows
himself to be.

The consciousness of the narrator as to his inability to
change can only be surmised through an examination of the
fictional situation as a whole, and of the logical
development of the character's personality. The text is
divided into three different books that reflect an ongoing
process of maturation in the character. The first book spans
from Pablos‘ childhood through the time when he leaves Alcala
for Segovia, the second begins on the road to Segovia and

ends as Pablos enters into the corte with don Toribio, and

 

the third starts with the protagonist becoming a false
gentleman and concludes with his unsuccessful venture to the
Indies. In the first book, as we have already briefly noted,
Pablos is portrayed alternately as a proud dissimulator and
an innocent victim. One way in which the narrator allows the
reader to witness the boy's innocence is by letting him speak
for himself through direct address. For instance, Pablos'
reaction to the pelting he receives from a group of women
during the reg de gallos incident makes him look like an
unassuming, naive child:

...cuando me empezaron a tirar las berenjenas,

nabos, etcetera, entendi que, como yo llevaba
plumas en el sombrero, entendi que me habian tenido

213
por mi madre y que la tiraban, como habian hecho
otras veces; y asi, como necio y muchacho, empece a
decir: "Hermanas, aunque llevo plumas, no soy
Aldonza de San Pedro, mi madre”, como si ellas no
lo echaran de ver por el talle y rostro. El miedo
me disculpa la ignorancia, y el sucederme la
desgracia tan de repente. (97)
The narrator thus allows the reader to see a more vulnerable
side of the character, whose ignorance and innocence can be
explained because of his youth. Conversely, the narrator
introduces information that allows us to question the so-
called innocence of the character by allowing us to see that
Pablos is a liar (the letter to his parents) and a
manipulator from an early age. Both of these traits, his
innocence and his consciousness of his ability to deceive,
are important, because in this initial stage of development,
the scales could tip either way, and Pablos could either be
motivated by good intentions and innocence or self-centred
intentions and depravity. He soon learns from his parents
and from his environment, however, that innocence will not
get him to where he wants to be, and so depravity becomes the
logical choice on his road to "success”.

The Cabra incident in the first book serves a dual
function with regard to Pablos' psychological development.
First, it demonstrates Pablos' innocence and suffering at the
hands of a cruel man. Second, it establishes an important
rapport between Pablos and vuestra merced in that the latter
becomes a confidant of sorts through a series of asides that
are directed specifically to him. Vgggtgg_mggggg is privy to

Pablos' emotions and his suffering and is perhaps meant to

feel sorry for the character's plight at this point in the

214
text. It is important to emphasize the reader's role here
specifically , because further on in the narrative that role
will be altered by the manipulative narrator who, from this
early incident, is setting vuestra merced up to later take a
fall.

After being saved from the deadly hands of Cabra by don
Alonso Coronel, Pablos and don Diego go to Alcala to study.
It is here that the first stage of Pablos' maturation comes
to a close and that an agnorisis takes place. After being
spat upon and beaten by his peers, Pablos, the scared and
confused, still innocent boy, is shaken back into reality by
the words of his master don Diego. The latter, making the
class distinction between them very clear and expressing his
anger at Pablos' laziness says harshly: "-aEs buen modo de
servir ese, Pablos? Ya es otra vida" (128). In effect, don
Diego is saying that Pablos has to wake up because his days
of innocence are over. The boy's reaction to this
exclamation is highly significant in that it marks a turning
point in his life that will lead him into an existence of
depravity: “Yo, cuando oi decir ‘otra vida', entendi que era
ya muerto" (128). This symbolic death implies that his
innocence is over and, along with it, his ability to react
emotionally to situations. The one aspect of his personality
that allowed him to appear human amidst the unreality of the
canivalesque world that surrounds him (his naive emotional
reactions: tears, fear, etc.), is here silenced and
permanently put to rest.

The beating that he is subjected to after don Diego's

215
harsh words represents a symbolic descent into hell following
his "death". This nightmarish experience, where the real and
the unreal become confused, serves as an initiation of sorts
from which Pablos will be “reborn" into the carnivalesque
world as a newly inducted member. After he wakes up, it is
again don Diego's harsh words: "-¢Es posible, Pablos, que no
he de poder contigo? Son las ocho cy estaste en la cama?
iLevantate enhoramala!” (131) that shock him back into
"reality“, a reality that had always existed, but to which
Pablos had been blind up until this point because of his
childlike innocence.

Before moving on to a discussion of the next step in
Pablos' maturation as a character, it is first necessary to
briefly explore his relationship with don Diego in order to
demonstrate the narrator's manipulation of both the youth and
the master. Up until the Alcala incident we had basically
only seen don Diego through Pablos' eyes and words, and the
latter consistently made it seem as though the two of them
were best friends. Once the adult narrator allows the
gentleman to speak for himself by way of direct address,
however (the two harsh phrases he uses on Pablos in Alcala),
we witness an image of don Diego that is drastically
different from that given to us by the character. Don Diego
is an unfeeling master, not the sympathetic friend that
Pablos tells us he is. When seen in this light we must ask
ourselves if don Diego is really what he appears to be. The
narrator, having been "undeceived" over time, now realizes

that don Diego is not such a good person, and allows the

216
gentleman to speak for himself, thus exposing him for what he
really is and also displaying the gullibility of the youth.
The boy's blindness as to the abuse he suffers under don
Diego's tutelage again allows him to be perceived as a
victim. The use of direct speech in this incident is a self-

conscious narrative device used by Pablos to communicate his

present awareness of past abuse suffered. The technique
allows don Diego to betray himself while making Pablos look
like the innocent, victimized boy.

In retrospect we must now reexamine a previous incident
involving don Diego where direct address was similarly used.
It was Diego early in the text who convinced Pablos to call
Poncio de Aguirre, Poncio Pilato. He says to Pablos: "-Hola,
llamale Poncio Pilato y echa a correr" (93). What at first
appears to be a harmless prank can now be viewed in a
different light. Don Diego is not, and has never been,
Pablos' friend; he is rather a hurtful, harsh person who
takes advantage of Pablos' innocence and loyalty for his own
amusement.

Following the Alcala incident, Pablos still does not
recognize his master's involvement in the carnivalesque world
and continues to deceive himself into believing that he is a
good friend. Pablos describes his master's reactions toward
him as follows: "El viendo mi llanto...compadeciOse de mi"
(129); "Don Diego me tomo e1 dedo del corazdn" (132), and
when Pablos leaves don Diego's service he says of his master:
"Lastimése mucho...el se fue a Segovia harto triste" (150).

Even after don Diego humiliates him in front of Ana and her

 

 

217
family (again by way of direct address), and he is attacked
by his former master's henchmen, Pablos still has difficulty
admitting that the whole incident was masterminded by don
Diego: "...nunca sospecha en don Diego" (255). Although
Pablos' words reveal his blindness as an experiencing
character, his use of direct speech as a narrator suggests a
lucidity in the adult,° an awareness that has occurred over
time and that awakens him to the deceptiveness of others.
Had the narrator not allowed don Diego to speak for himself
from time to time through direct address, then the opinion
that has been put forth by some critics that the nobleman is
the only good character in the book7 would be feasible. By
transporting him out of his silent existence (which was
hidden behind Pablos' words and false perception of him), we
can identify him as what he really is, the agent that
initiates Pablos into a world of darkness from whence there
is no escape.

Once don Diego symbolically wakes Pablos up to the
reality in which he exists, the boy understands that his
options are limited. He can either remain subverted and
abused by his peers or change his life and become a member of
the grotesque world to which he has been exposed. In a
moment of reflection and realization Pablos says to himself
and then to the reader: "‘Avisdn, Pablos, alerta'. Propuse
de hacer nueva vida” (132). He sees no other alternative but
to submit to the established order because it provides him
with the only recourse for continuing his quest to acquire

notoriety. After all, for a person in Pablos' position, the

218
negative notoriety that the carnivalesque world will provide
him with is better than no notoriety at all, and expressing a
voice, even if it is a contemptible one, is better than
remaining silent. This conscious decision to abide by the
negative rules of society in order to survive, destroys any
possibility that he might be able to change his life for the
better. In this particular fictional world, there is no room
for goodness, there are simply various degrees of badness.‘
Pablos, as self-assured as ever and continuing his goal to be
superior to everyone else, decides that if he is going to
become a part of this society, he will make sure that he is
the best at being bad: "...vine a resolverme de ser bellaco
con los bellacos, y mas, si pudiese, que todos. No se si
sali con ello, pero yo aseguro a v. m. que hice todas las
diligencias posibles" (133). As Pablos prepares himself to
enter into his new life (and the next level in the process of
maturation), it is important to remember that his initial
goal has not changed, only the means to achieving it are
different. The basic character and his ideals remain the
same.

As was mentioned previously, the one trait that remains
constant throughout this first section, that ties the three
books together, and ultimately also connects the narrator to
the character, is his pride. After the Alcala experience,
Pablos does not simply resign himself to becoming a bellaco,
he instead is determined to become the best bellaco of them
all. His need to excel and to dominate situations and people

is reflected throughout his story, and is still as prevalent

 

 

 

219
in his adult life as it was in his childhood. Therefore, it
is possible to see that the youth was not silenced in the
Alcala incident, his attitude was simply altered in a natural
process of evolution from a young, self-serving child into an
older, equally self-serving youth. The initial character who
saw himself to be better than his parents, is here better
than all the other bellacos. Nothing has changed, Pablos is
just expanding the territory over which he wants to have
control. This constant need to be the best ties the narrator
to the child, making it clear that they are not two distinct
voices, but are rather two variations of the same voice.
Young Pablos is still very much present in the adolescent
Pablos, and adolescent Pablos, as we shall see shortly, is
very much a part of the adult narrator.

After the Alcala incident where Pablos' innocence is
silenced and the process of maturation is initiated, the
character is then put to the test. He must prove himself a
serious and worthy member of the carnivalesque world.

Through a series of petty tricks that serve symbolically as
Pablos' education, he earns a name for himself: "...comence a
cobrar fama de travieso y agudo entre todos" (145), thus
demonstrating his readiness to embark on his new life. The
applause that he receives for his wit and trickery incites
him to become even worse: "Yo, como era muchacho y oia que me
alababan el ingenio con que salia destas travesuras,
animabame para hacer muchas mas" (142). For Pablos, it does
not matter that he is being bad, because his only concern is

being the absolute best at something, even if that involves

220
becoming a criminal or (later) a murderer. We know that his
"education” is finally complete when don Diego offers to
refer him to one of his friends for a job and the arrogant
youth refuses: "-Sefior, ya soy otro, y otros mis
pensamientos; mas alto pico, y mas autoridad me importa
tener" (149). As he becomes more self-assured in his new
role, he also begins editing the text and concealing
information from vuestra merced: "Y por no ser largo, dejo de
contar..." (144), "Callo las pensiones que tenia..."(144) and
"Con estas y otras cosas..." (emphasis mine 145). His
increased silence is a result of his renewed self-confidence,
and it represents Pablos' realization that he no longer needs
to disclose information to vuestra merced in order to prove
his self-worth. The first step in the picaro's maturation is
now complete after he has experienced a sequence of events
that is clearly cyclical: Pablos is born, lives a "normal"
existence, is educated (school, Cabra, Alcala), wakes up to a
new life ("otra vida"), experiences a symbolic death and
rebirth, is reeducated and begins living his "otra vida" in
his new mask ("ya soy otro").

The crossing over to this other life is reflected in the
gradual silencing of the asides to vuestra merced and the
increased need to edit the text where he sees fit. It also
lays bare a process of interiorization that is skillfully
masked in an outward display of exhibitionism. In other
words, as Pablos becomes more secretive and discloses less
about himself in the presence of the fictional destinaire,

his verbal conceits become more apparent in his descriptions

221
of other people and his silence about himself. The
incorporation of interpolated texts’ and a colourful
collection of secondary characters serve to conceal the
disappearance of Pablos from the fore under a blanket of
verbal artifice, and they also initiate another stage in the
maturation process in which the character withdraws
temporarily to set himself apart from the other people in the
text and to show his superiority over them. On the road to
Segovia to recover his inheritance, Pablos' role as actor
becomes subordinate to his new role as an observer of others.
He meets up with a series of peculiar characters who typify
the absurdity of the world into which the protagonist has
recently been introduced.

The first person he meets is a man who thinks that he
can help the king solve the country's problems by using some
interesting, yet hair-brained schemes. Next, he is joined by
a mathematician who explains everything according to angles
and who, when challenged by a fencer, will only act according
to the instructions laid out in a book titled Grandeza de la
espada. The third man he meets is the poet-sacristan, whose
compositions are as abundant as they are ridiculous. His
meeting with this last character culminates in the reading of
the Prematica, an interpolated text whose presence in g;
Buscdn is never clearly or sufficiently explained, but which
seems of exist in order to demonstrate the power of language
and text to distort and affect reality.‘°

Considering the fact that the first book revolved solely

around Pablos and his exploits, his silence at the beginning

222
of the second book appears somewhat curious. He recedes to
observe what is going on around him and in the process is
silent about himself. Pablos gives us detailed descriptions
of these peculiar characters who appear more like unreal
abstractions than real people. William Clamurro believes

that such character drawing reduces people to the level of

objects and represent an example of "alienated language"
(303). He explains that:
.u what the text presents is a world in which
people have become distorted and reduced to little
more than bizarre assemblages and where motive and
identity have become mechanism and surface, as the
destablization of the sign renders ambiguous the
act of judgement and undermines the human
distinctness of character" (”Destablizing" 304).
By robbing these characters of that which would make them
appear human and familiar to us, Pablos creates an implied
contrast between himself and them. He intentionally portrays
an image of himself as the only sane member of the group.
Pablos at once steps back to observe the absurd caricatures
and at the same time serves as the mediator between the
insanity of their world and the "reality" of his own.“ At
this point our character appears remarkably well rounded and
sane in contrast to his absurd travelling companions. The
inclusion of these wandering souls does little to progress
the story of Pablos' life, but it does serve as a useful
narrative tool to demonstrate the next step in the maturation
process of the youth. Even in his silence Pablos manages to
show his superiority. Whereas before he had to prove his

prowess through physical actions in the form of tricks and

deceits, here he sets himself apart mentally by demonstrating

223
his rationality. He intentionally places himself in a
position from whence he can control the situation and assert
his authority over others. Pablos is the only one who can
distinguish the unreal from the real at this point and it is
his noninvolvement in the other characters' insanity that
imbues him with a sense of verisimilitude. He has therefore
evolved into a more complete dissimulator, one that cannot
only manipulate physical situations but can also use his
intelligence to control and distort his story. His silent
presence here speaks volumes about his abilities to assert
himself and his voice through the text.

When we arrive at the interpolated discourse of don
Toribio, Pablos' voice is completely displaced. His silence
throughout don Toribio's lessons on how to become a false
gentleman is not used to the same end as it was in his
portrayal of his previous travelling companions. Before,
Pablos was setting up a contrast between himself and the
three madmen, where his silence and distance bespoke his
authority and superiority over them. Even though he was
withdrawn, he was still narrating the descriptions and
therefore was controlling them as well. In the case of don
Toribio, Pablos completely cedes control of the text to the
would be gentleman who, through direct address, takes over
the narration and silences our protagonist. Pablos is as
drawn into, and affected by, don Toribio's discourse as the
mad poet was by the Prematica before. What this silence does
is to pull Pablos off of his pedestal temporarily to expose

the fact that he is no different from the rest of society and

224
that his need to maintain appearances continues to betray
him. His desire to become a nobleman, even a false one,
reveals that he is not the superior observer he has tried to
show himself to be, but is really still a compliant member of
the false world from which he was trying to set himself
apart.

After his encounter with don Toribio, the focus of the
narrative again returns to Pablos, now a fully integrated
member of society and a master of hypocrisy. Every time he
comes close to achieving his goal of being superior (the
contrast between himself and the madmen) and of becoming a
gentleman (his short career as a false gentleman under don
Toribio's tutelage), his true identity is revealed and he is
forced to begin the cycle of masking and unmasking over
again. His attempts at gaining notoriety are not unlike the
continually thwarted attempts of Sisyphus to roll the boulder
up the hill. Like Sisyphus, Pablos has no choice but to keep
trying even though he recognizes the futility of his actions.
The fact that he refuses to give up and continues to be
humiliated reaffirms the idea that no matter what the odds or
the consequences, Pablos refuses to be silenced. He seems to
understand that his very existence depends on the
continuation of the cycle. Therefore, the continual movement
from place to place is analogous to Sisyphus' situation in
that the actions of both men are essential to the
perpetuation of their lives. If they stop moving, they will
cease to exist. For Pablos, it is the movement and the

changing of masks that keeps him alive. His awareness as to

 

225
the importance of perpetual movement is apparent in his
refusal to remain in the company of any one person or group
of people for a long period of time. Examples of this in the
text are: when he has the opportunity to serve another master
after don Diego, but refuses; or when he is invited to go
along with don Toribio's group after their release from jail,
but again refuses;12 and finally, when he is invited to
become a member of another acting troupe, he once again
refuses,‘3 preferring to ensure his own survival by starting
over again with a new mask that will ensure his longevity as
a fictional being. For that reason he becomes a bellaco, a
false gentleman, a poet and a playwright, a chaser of nuns, a
drunken murderer, an explorer of foreign lands and finally an
author / narrator. Each one of these roles allows his
fictional existence to continue. The other characters who
remain in only one role disappear quickly from the fictional
scene, which is something that Pablos, who is determined to
assert his ”yo", will never let happen to himself.

Having touched upon the cyclical nature of Pablos' life
it is now necessary to return to our discussion of the
problematic last sentence of the novel, which is a logical
component of that cycle. The final words bring the text full
circle to reveal that the distance between narrator and
character is a temporal, not psychological one. As has
already been demonstrated, throughout his experiencing life,
Pablos tried to conceal information from other members of
society only to have those people, or his circumstances,

uncover all that he was attempting to keep silent. In the

 

226
final sentence, the adult narrator again attempts to hide the
truth about himself, thus repeating the behaviour of the
youth in his narrating present. His words, cloaked in
mystery, conceal information from the reader as Pablos had
previously concealed information from society.

Rather than representing an admission of reform, the
final sentence of the text is a blatant statement that
suggests that the narrator has come to grips with the state
of his existence. It is a recognition of his situation, but
in no way implies that he will change as a result of it. In
fact, his silence at the end supports the argument that the
narrator has not changed. He is now more like his youthful
counterpart than he ever was before, and the cycle of masking
and unmasking, concealing and revealing is here perfectly
duplicated. We, as readers, still feel, after all of the
information provided by the narrator, that we do not truly
know him. His text appears to have become the final mask
that is used by Pablos to conceal his true identity. The
last line then can be seen as a self-conscious tour de force
through which the narrator, recognizing the futility of his
attempts to transgress social classes, still stubbornly
refuses to give up. In perfect accordance with his former
determination to prove himself in spite of overwhelming odds,
here he continues his quest to achieve notoriety through the
text. The act of textual composition provides the ultimate
attempt at building up an image, and at the same time, the
fictional situation itself and the narrator's words and

silence, serve as the key to unmasking both his true identity

227
and the text's hidden function.

The controversy that the last line has produced with
regard to its potential moral message should briefly be
discussed here. It does contain a latent moral tag, but
making such a statement and acting upon it are two entirely

different things. If read superficially and out of context

with the rest of the fictional situation, then the
possibility of change might be surmisible from this brief
phrase. When considered in light of everything that happens
in Pablos' discourse, and after a careful examination of the
development of the protagonist’s personality, however, the
final sentence can be seen for what it really is; a carefully
positioned statement that communicates one message while
implying another. If the adult had truly experienced a
change then we would have witnessed some attempt within the
body of the narrative to excuse his reprehensible behaviour
(murder, for instance). After all, from a narrating point of
view, it is not the last occurrence in Pablos' textual life,
but rather its starting point. The realization that one's
lot cannot change simply by moving from place to place,
precedes the actual penning of the text. Therefore, change,
if it truly occurred as the sentence seems to imply, should
be apparent throughout the story, and it is not. The
narrator instead, hardly humbled by the realization,
continues to assert himself and to take pride in his
accomplishments in spite of (and perhaps because of) the fact
that he recognizes the futility of his actions.

The final line then does present an agnorisis in the

 

 

228

character, but it does not produce a catharsis. The
maturation process is now complete in that the narrator is
finally resigned to the fact that change is impossible. With
regard to the protagonist's development, however, the final
line demonstrates that Pablos is still basically the same as
he was as a youth. He therefore exhibits a degree of
psychological cohesiveness that has rarely been acknowledged
by critics.14

Considering the complexity of the narrator, the

inclusion of the final sentence must be seen as a deliberate

 

act on his part. There are still, however, some unanswered
questions regarding its function in the text. If this line
demonstrates the narrator's recognition as to the futility of
his attempts to transgress social classes, then why in the
text proper is he still so eager and adamant to assert
himself? The answer is that the final line not only
represents Pablos' realization of his situation, but also his
resignation to it. For Pablos, resignation does not imply
that he will give up his goal of making a name for himself,
however. The incident in Alcala is a case in point where the
character resigned himself to joining the carnivalesque
world, and then found new strength to become the best at
being bad, and to excel within the limitations of that
particular role. The resignation of the narrator in the
final line reflects a similar absurd determination and
optimism, and the writing of the text becomes another attempt

by Pablos to assert himself, even though he recognizes that,

 

as in the past, he will necessarily be unmasked and revealed.

 

229
He does resign himself to the futility of his attempts, but
instead of becoming disillusioned, he decides that within the
limitations of his role as narrator / author, he can still
make a name for himself by continuing the cycle of role-
playing. If he cannot escape his station in society, then he

will at least make sure that his life continues in text.

As it is the reader's role to uncover the truth about
the elliptical last line and the other enigmas of the text,
it would be helpful at this point to consider the narrator's
treatment of his various destinaires. To begin with it would
be foolish to assume that someone as clever and self-
conscious as Pablos would not think twice about playing the
same tricks on us as he does on the other fictional
characters in the book, and so we should proceed with caution
when examining the text.

It appears curious at first that a reprehensible
narrator would disclose incriminating information about
himself to a superior vuestra merced. Unlike the Lazarillo
and the Guzman where the narrator was always trying to prove
himself to the reader, in El Buscdn, the relationship between
the fictional recipient, vuestra merced, and the narrator, is
different. Initially, the kinship between them appears to be
extremely cordial and friendly. This has led some critics to
consider vuestra merced's presence to be an empty one, a mere
rhetorical device lacking in substance.16 The fictional
reader is initially told everything about the character
Pablos, good and bad. This process of full disclosure serves

to draw the reader in, and to make him believe that he is a

 

 

230
position of authority over the other characters in the text
who are not privy to Pablos' personal asides and thoughts.
Pablos' damning of the younger character also helps to build
up the illusion of himself as a distinct man and one that can
be trusted. This too is a ploy used by the narrator to trick
the reader into concentrating on the now non-existent,
distant past rather than on the narrating present. There are
markers in the text that demonstrate that Pablos may have a
premeditated plan through which he is purposely trying to

delude the reader into believing himself to be more important

 

than he really is. For example, Pablos never hides the fact
that he considers himself to be as important as, if not more
important_than, vuestra merced. The order of supremacy in
the text is made clear from the very beginning when Pablos
begins: "Yo, sefior..." (emphasis mine 81). He places himself
first (yo), and the reader second (sefior). This subversion
and control of the reader by the narrator is apparent from
the beginning, but is carefully disguised in a web of
deceitful flattery (by means of direct address), to which the
reader is meant to fall prey. The fictional reader, as was
the case in the previous texts studied, is really a silent
entity from the beginning, but serves a specific narrative
function in the text; usually to sway the reader into
believing the narrator's story. Here, however, the fictional
destinaire is used to slightly different ends. Pablos does
not want to win the reader's sympathy, but rather to control
him both within and outside of the text. His plan is devised

to deceive the reader from the very beginning by building up

 

230
position of authority over the other characters in the text
who are not privy to Pablos' personal asides and thoughts.
Pablos' damning of the younger character also helps to build
up the illusion of himself as a distinct man and one that can
be trusted. This too is a ploy used by the narrator to trick
the reader into concentrating on the now non-existent,
distant past rather than on the narrating present. There are
markers in the text that demonstrate that Pablos may have a
premeditated plan through which he is purposely trying to
delude the reader into believing himself to be more important
than he really is. For example, Pablos never hides the fact
that he considers himself to be as important as, if not more
important than, vuestra merced. The order of supremacy in
the text is made clear from the very beginning when Pablos
begins: "Yo, sefior..." (emphasis mine 81). He places himself
first (yo), and the reader second (sefior). This subversion
and control of the reader by the narrator is apparent from
the beginning, but is carefully disguised in a web of
deceitful flattery (by means of direct address), to which the
reader is meant to fall prey. The fictional reader, as was
the case in the previous texts studied, is really a silent
entity from the beginning, but serves a specific narrative
function in the text; usually to sway the reader into
believing the narrator's story. Here, however, the fictional
destinaire is used to slightly different ends. Pablos does
not want to win the reader's sympathy, but rather to control
him both within and outside of the text. His plan is devised

to deceive the reader from the very beginning by building up

 

231
a false image of his importance only to later subjugate him
in a narrative show of force. Even here, in his relationship
with the reader, we see that the initial goal of the
character, to be better than all the rest at any cost, is
still unshakably intact.

As the text progresses, the hypothetical reader's role

gradually begins to change from that of privileged confidant,
who is in an obvious position of superiority (on a social
level) over Pablos, to a debased non-person who Pablos talks
down to and humiliates. The fictional reader, who was once
privy to everything, is progressively silenced and
ostracized. His role becomes smaller and his involvement
less as Pablos enacts a merciless plan to silence him. No
longer addressed as vuestra merced, the destinaire has
expanded, or deteriorated (depending on how one looks at it)
into a more general "pio lector" (282), to a generic "hombre"
(283), and is finally brought down to the level of a picaro:
"...si fueres picaro lector" (285). The reader has thus been
systematically reduced from the ranks of supposed nobility to
the squalid picaresque world in which Pablos reigns as the
supreme deceiver. The fictional reader has therefore been
duped, having been lured, because of Pablos' false flattery
at the beginning, into the text only to be subverted and
placed in a subordinate position to a much underrated
narrator. Once Pablos has the reader on fictionally equal
ground, the process of silencing and subverting him can
easily be undertaken. This intratextual subversion extends

beyond the text into our frame of reference and presents

 

 

232
itself as an extratextual challenge to the real reader to see
if we are as gullible as Pablos' own fictional reader. In
order not to be drawn into and fooled by his deceit, we must
again realize that the writing of the text is not an
admission of guilt or a promise of change, but the next
logical step in Pablos' attempt at self-assertion. The text
is the ultimate trick used by Pablos to authenticate his
existence, and if the reader is taken in by the narrator's
flattery, then Pablos will have won, and managed to subvert
the real reader to the level of (or even below the level of),
his fictional reader, vuestra merced.

Having discussed Pablos' attempt to assert himself and
his narrative superiority over his reader, we must
necessarily ask what the author's involvement is in the
narrator's discourse, if any. The relationship between the
author and the narrator cannot be considered an antagonistic
one. The radical subversion and silencing that the previous
picaros suffered at the hands of their implied authors is not
as apparent in the Ouevedo-Pablos relationship. It is often
hard to distinguish Ouevedo's voice from Pablos' voice,
because the author remains conspicuously and purposely hidden
in the margins of the text. Leo Spitzer elaborates on the
author's absence when he observes that:

El relato en primera persona es ficcion, pero tras
ella se oculta el autor: sus experiencias son
siempre asunto privado. El es el duefio de sus
sientimientos e inclinaciones y sabe separar de si
a su heroe de tal modo que andariamos perpetuamente
a oscuras si quisiéramos descubrir en su obra su
‘opinion' sobre el buscOn...Alma tiene Ouevedo, a

buen seguro, sblo que no se siente obligado a
exhibirla. (184)

 

 

233

The fact that the author feels no need to blatantly reveal
himself in the text suggests that he may be in agreement with
what his character has to say. By withdrawing so thoroughly,
he cedes control of the narrative to Pablos, who takes full

advantage of the opportunity to assert himself through the

act of textual composition. The important point for our
study is that the author’s distance from the text allows the
primary voice to be assigned to Pablos and not to Ouevedo,
who remains purposely distant from his creature and yet
intricately involved in his words. The lack of antagonism
between the two, which was clear from the beginning in the
non-prologue, allows for the illusion of increased narrative
freedom in Pablos' discourse. Therefore, Ouevedo and Pablos
may be communicating the same message; that there is no way
to escape one's station in life,“ but that the attempt to
assert oneself is necessary if that life is to be meaningful.
Without the struggle for self-assertion, man must necessarily
cede to disillusionment; something that Pablos attempts to
deny and avoid throughout his fictional existence.

The author, although basically silent in the text, still
asserts authority over Pablos from a distance, and the
relationship between them appears to function on a system of
narrative checks and balances. Most of the authorial
intrusions are superficial and do not threaten Pablos'
textual existence. One example of authorial intrusion
involves the title sentences that precede each chapter in the

text. El Bu can, like the Lazarillo before it, provides brief

 

234
title sentences that purport to summarize what is to ensue in
each chapter. In the Lazarillo they were all in third
person, giving them the appearance of having been added to
the text at a later date. In El Buscdn, however, they are
primarily in first person,17 suggesting that they came from
Pablos' pen. The first of these summarizing phrases is in
third person, however: "En que cuenta quien es y de dbnde"
(81). Who is the narrator of this problematic sentence? At
first it may appear to be the adult narrator talking about
his youthful counterpart as a deliberately detached third
person in an attempt to distance what he is now from what he
was then. As Edmond Cros points out, the adult narrator
often treats the boy in this distanced manner: "...el Yo se
exhibe abiertamente como un No-Yo...el Yo nos cuenta la
historia de su vida como si tratara de un El...el Yo se hace
ver como signo distanciado" (emphasis Cros's 54). This point
of view is applicable to other parts of the story where it is
true that the narrator attempts to give the appearance of
distancing himself from the boy. Here, however, the
explanation falls short. The first word of the narrative
proper is "Yo". This resounding "Yo" belongs to the narrator
in the present, a fact that is confirmed by the use of the
present indicative of the verb ser: "...soy de Segovia"
(emphasis mine 81), and which is further corroborated by the
abrupt switch to the preterite: "Mi padre se llamo Clemente
Pablo“ (emphasis mine 81), reflecting that Pablos is looking
back on past events from his narrating present. It does not

make sense that a narrator who is so eager to assert himself

 

235

in the text, a fact which is confirmed by the continuous
application of his "Yo”, would begin the text by using the
third-person. Furthermore, the subject of the third person
address cannot refer to the boy Pablos because the verb used
in reference to this person is contar. The youth does not
tell the story, the narrator does. Therefore, the narrator
of the summarizing sentence is not the adult, it instead
bespeaks the distanced presence of the implied author in the
text. The voice of the author is not particularly meddlesome
with regard to Pablos' narration, but still claims for itself
the primary position in the text, and we must therefore
acknowledge its presence, and assume that it is a voice to be
contended with in this complex novel. This elusive and
enigmatic presence leaves a suggestion of itself in the first
sentence, and then in like manner throughout the text,
asserts itself just enough to keep Pablos' narrative powers
in check.

The author's presence in the narrator's words is also
noticeable when Pablos contradicts himself. For instance, he

says certain negative things about poets and playwrights and

 

then ironically becomes one himself. Similarly, when he
leaves home and tells the reader that he is motivated to
issue forth out of shame and then tells his parents that he
is leaving in order to save them money and heartache. A
third marker of the author's silent manipulation of Pablos'
text involves the narrator's over-omniscience. The narrator
occasionally talks about events that he could not possibly

have witnessed. For example, Pablos tells us his uncle's

236
reaction to the letter he sent him upon leaving Segovia:
"...el dicho mi tio...ofendido con la carta" (190), and yet
we know that he did not see Ramplon again after leaving the
city. Another example is when Pablos tells us how Diego
found out the truth about his identity through a conversation
with Flechilla. Pablos was not privy to their encounter and
yet he reproduces its contents in his text.19 These
occasional slips in Pablos' narration bespeak the presence of
the implied author, which does not attempt to destroy the
narrator, its presence simply reduces his credibility
somewhat so that he does not become too autonomous or
omnipotent. Considering Pablos' continued self-assurance, it
is safe to assume that he remains unaware of any authorial
intrusion.

The relationship between author and narrator here is not
unlike that between narrator and character, whereby the
process of subversion, although apparent, is not a completely
successful or destructive one. If, as has been shown in this
chapter, we can identify Pablillos in Pablos, then it is also
possible to recognize Pablos in Ouevedo. There is a
correlation between the narrator who appears to silence the
character, but does not completely stifle him, and the author
who subverts the narrator, but not to the point of silencing
him. The author's presence in the text assures that Pablos
will remain within the limits of his narrative role.

Ouevedo, in essence, acts as the final obstacle to Pablos'
success. He therefore functions symbolically within the text

as society did outside of it; as the force that will push

 

 

237
Pablos back to down the hill so that he can begin the cycle
again. The reader gets the sense that this repression of the
narrator by the author is not a spiteful act, however.
Ouevedo and Pablos seem similarly resigned to the order of
things in society and to the futility of trying to transcend

one's social class.

Pablos writes his text as a rebellious show of force and
defiance, even though he knows beforehand that his attempt to
assert himself will ultimately be thwarted, if not by the
reader extratextually, then silently by the author
intratextually. Even though this assertion may appear
fruitless with regard to his proposed goal, the alternative
is to disappear permanently and to be silenced by both
society and the text. This final effort to defy the system
in spite of his knowledge that he will fail, must be
applauded. By refusing to be silent, he temporarilly
succeeds in beating the established order.

In conclusion, by examining the fictional situation in
its entirety, it is possible to see El BuscOn, not as an
assemblage of dangling episodes loosely strung together by a
similarly disjointed and empty character, but as a unified
and brilliantly contrived whole that bespeaks the presence of
a highly skilled and self-conscious narrator. The individual
episodes are all connected by the motif of masking and
unmasking, concealing and revealing. This motif is cyclical
and represents the pivot around which the entire text
revolves. The narrative is carefully contrived by the

narrator to trick the reader into believing in the initial

-‘

 

238
appearances of the text. The act of writing itself, however,
is a trick," perhaps the ultimate trick of a consummate
charlatan who is bent on asserting his superiority over the
reader from the beginning through a carefully constructed and
premeditated plan of subversion and deceit. Some of the
tools used by the skilled narrator to ensnare the reader have
been studied in this chapter. They include: the illusory
silencing of the experiencing "I" in order to give the
appearance of the adult as a reformed man; the use of direct
and friendly discourse with the fictional destinaire to lure
him into the text in order to subvert and silence him; and
the inclusion of the elliptical last sentence which, under
the guise of communicating a moral lesson, really serves to
silence information about the narrator. Although the text
itself suggests that attempts at dissimulation will always be
unsuccessful, Pablos has to keep trying because by breaking
away from the cycle, he would condemn himself to certain
death. Even though he realizes the futility of his actions,
like Sisyphus, he has no choice but to proceed and to keep
performing in his various roles. He is living in his own
personal Hades, condemned to the perpetual cycle of masking
and unmasking by forces that are greater than himself:
society and the author. Despite his knowledge that
subversion is unavoidable, Pablos refuses to succumb to
disillusionment and instead of gracefully accepting his fate
and retreating, he fights against the impossible, making sure
that he is heard. Pablos is not a silent character, but the

most determined and powerful picaro. As we close the book

 

 

239
the one thing that echoes in our minds is the resounding ”Yo"

that refuses to acquiese.

 

 

240

Notes

1Domingo Yndurain in the introduction to his edition of
El Buscon states that Duport was most likely the author of
the "Al Lector" segment: "A mi entender, el prblogo ‘Al
Lector' no es de Ouevedo; es Duport quien, probablemente,
trata de imitar el estilo de don Francisco, pero la
ostensible preocupacidn por la venta -no la lectura- del
libro en que se desparrama la parte final, proporciona la
clave" (69). Similarly, Peter Dunn says: "...the bookseller
Roberto Duport who supplied a preface which until recently
was believed to be Ouevedo's" (Spanish 65).

2The word author has been placed in quotation marks in
this portion of the study to emphasize that we do not know
who the true author of the piece is. By setting it off in
quotes it is meant to demonstrate that it could refer either
to Duport or to Ouevedo. Later on when the word author is
used without quotations, it referes solely to Francisco de
Ouevedo.

3William Clamurro identifies the ending as a non-
conclusion and describes how it effects the narrator's
credibility: “The breakdown of narrative credibility in the
picaro's discourse is subtly evident throughout the text, but
it is most striking at the very end, the non-conclusion of
the book" ("Destablizing" 310).

“Clamurro discusses the incongruity of the last line in
relation to the rest of the text: "The noticeable economical,
if not elliptical, style of this final part and the manner in
which much action is related in a radically compressed space
contrast markedly with the more extended and elaborate
tendencies of most of Pablos' narration" ("Interpolated”
453).

9There have been a variety of different opinions as to
the potential moral message of the last line. Below are the
thoughts of two critics who do see the implied morality of
the final words and who discuss its effect on the text as a
whole. 8. J. Randall explains that the final sentence is:
”...not a mere moral tag, but nothing less than the moral of
the book" (emphasis Randall's 102). He does not suggest that
Pablos changes in the text, but instead stresses that the
moral acknowledgement is meant to extend beyond the text as a
sign that reform is needed: ”Rather than being a conventional
moral tag, the final sentence of the Buscon is, I think, an
important comment on Pablo's life and Ouevedo's Spain, a
comment which carries the implicit reminder that the first
step toward reform is the knowledge that reform is
needed...Pablo himself may never change, but the book in

241

which he appears is a possible means of awakening readers to
the hypocrisy and viciousness which disfigure their own
lives, and its concluding sentence is an artistically
effective, morally pertinent plea for change" (108).
Although Randall makes a valid point as to how the moral tag
extends beyond the text to perhaps instruct its readers
through the negative example of Pablos' life, there is still
implicit in the grotesque world that is El BuscOn a
hopelessness and futility which suggest that change, inside
or outside of the text, may be impossible. In my opinion,
the grotesque portrayal of the world is a symbolic
representation of that hopelessness. Anthony Zahareas
similarly believes in the moral implication of the last line,
but he sees it reflected in Pablos who he believes does
change in the text, becoming a detached critic of his former
self: ”The narrator is distant because, compared to the
foolish social climber, he is wise to the errors of
picaros...Ouevedo's social upstart has abandoned social
concerns and become, implicitly, his own moralist"
("Structure" 1075). As we have seen in this chapter,
however, the pride of the narrator betrays the fact that the
distance between himself and the youth is illusory.

°Anthony Zahareas does an excellent job of describing
Pablos' lucidity as a narrator who has come to some
realizations about his existence, and who recognizes the
impossibility of change within the established order: "The
pecador cannot overcome his deviance (hence obstinado) but he
at least knows that he cannot. This lucid awareness both
immerses the swindler in his narrated past and distances him
from it” ("Historical" 433).

7There are varying views on don Diego's role in the
text. A. A. Parker, in Literature and the Delinguent,
supports the theory that don Diego is the only good character
in the text and that he is not subjected to a process of
dehumanization as the other characters are, and thus remains
the symbol of reality amidst the unreal world and caricatures
of El BuscOn (60). Harry Sieber, on the other hand, in his
"Some Recent Books on the Picaresque," states that "Ouevedo
seems to make clear that there are no perfectly ‘good'
characters in Pablos' world" and that includes don Diego
(328-9). Carroll 8. Johnson, in his very thorough study on
don Diego and the Coronel family, “El Buscén, Don Pablos, Don
Diego, Don Francisco," points out that don Diego is no better
than Pablos in that he exploits the picaro as much as the
picaro exploits him: ”Es verdad que don Diego existe para
Pablos como una posible via de acercamiento...Pero tambien es
verdad que Pablos existe para don Diego como un juguete o
bufon, en fin: un objeto explotable" ("D. Pablos" 2-3). This
study sides with the last two critics who do not consider don
Diego to be a good character, but a willing member of a
carnivalesque world.

°Carroll B. Johnson points out that there is no goodness

‘ 242

in Pablos' world when he explains that: “Ouevedo ha dividido
el mundo novelesco del Buscdn no entre malos y algun bueno,
sino entre varias facetas del mal, tal como el lo entendia“
("D. Pablos" 26).

’Clamurro identifies three embedded texts in the
framework of Pablos' discourse: 1)Alonso Ramplbn's letter to
his nephew, 2)the Prematica del desengafio contra los ooetas
gueros, chirlgggy hebenes, and 3)don Toribio's discourse on
how to be a successful false gentleman in the corte.
Clamurro explains that these interpolations serve to
1)”undermine the illusion of psychological and narrative
verisimilitude" (446), and 2)”provide resonance to the main
discourse by momentarily displacing Pablos as the essential
narrator and by bringing in the improbable and distorted
images of a progressively widening world of human activity"
("Interpolated" 446). As I have attempted to show in this
chapter, the introduction of the various secondary characters I
also serves the same function as these three interpolated
texts; to displace Pablos in order to create a contrast
between himself and the absurdity of the world that surrounds
him.

.5

1°Clamurro notes the artificiality of the Prematica when
he states: "...the Prematica seems to have no authentic
narrative relationship to the rest of the book, other than a
possible negative function as a hiatus in the action“
("Interpolated” 450). This text appears to have been added
purposely by Pablos in order to further display his own
lucidity (in that he recognizes the text as fiction) in
comparison with the insanity of the poet who reacts to the
fictional text as though it were the truth.

uPablos demonstrates his own sanity and the insanity of
the poet when he continually has to remind the latter that
the Prematica is a fictional account that should not be taken
seriously. The narrator has to bring the poet back to
reality by reminding him that: "Sefior, esta prematica es
hecha por gracia, que no tiene fuerza ni apremia, por estar
falta de autoridad“ (169). In comparison to the poet, Pablos
here appears extremely lucid and sane.

12Pablos says of the thieves and his decision not to go
with them: "...me avisaron que iban camino de Sevilla a costa
de la caridad, no los quise seguir” (233).

13Pablos similarly decides not to continue in his career
as an actor, preferring to move on to another role: "Yo, si
va a decir verdad, aunque los compafieros me querian guiar a
otras compafiias, como no aspiraba a semejantes oficios y el
andar en ellos era por necesidad, ya que me veia con dineros
y bien puesto, no trate mas que de holgarme. Despedime de
todos; fueronse" (273).

14A. A. Parker has been the main proponent of perceiving

 

243

Pablos as a well rounded, psychologically sound character.

He notes the truthfulness and humanness of the picaro when he
says: "The picaro moves through a world of stylilzed, even
grotesque, ‘super-realism', but his character is human"
("Psychology" 67). James Iffland in his "Pablos‘s Voice: His
Master's?" similarly believes in the cohesiveness of Pablos'
character and the authenticity of his voice when he states
that there is "...a primal unity of vision and voice in the
novel which somehow made Pablos a palpably living character"
(219). Further on in his article he also attempts to show
that it is through Pablos' wit that we can understand his
unique psychology and see him as a complete and viable
character: "...wit...can serve as an inroad into an interior
dimension which critics have so often denied our protagonist.
Traced back to their source, these flashy displays of
‘ingenio' reveal a hidden world of anguished animosity...he
is not a hollow shell...there are internal forces at work 2
which surface in the way he narrates his life, and can even L
be considered the cause for his having written this 5
autobiography" (243). a

1°Aurora Egido points out that there is no justification
for vuestra merced's presence in the text: "En cuanto a la
presencia de un ‘Vuestra Merced,’ no queda justificada en el
texto"("Retablo" 180), and Yndurain identifies the fictional
destinaire as a mere rhetorical device: "...es cierto que ese
Sefior a quien se dirige Pablos, una vez cumplida su funciOn
inicial, se diluye en la obra y s610 reaparece de vez en
cuando como simple recurso narrativo" (29). I have tried to
show that vuestra merced is a rhetorical device, but one that
serves a very important role in Pablos' text. The
manipulation of the fictional destinaire by the scheming
narrator proves that the latter is extremely conscious of his
actions in the text.

ledwin Williamson points out that Pablos may simply be
Ouevedo‘s vehicle to communicate the author's message.
Discussing the text as a whole he says: "The multiple
deceptions involved reveal a cynicism which cannot be
restricted to the character: the hands of his creator can be
glimpsed behind the scenes, using his creature as a vehicle
for his own resentments" (57). Even though Ouevedo uses
Pablos, in the process of doing so, he identifies and agrees
with his character, making the relationship between them
appear to be a cooperative and not an entirely subversive
one. In his very interesting study, "Cinco lecciones sobre
el Buscbn," Mauricio Molho discusses the possibility that
Ouevedo's inability to transcend his social class is
communicated through Pablos in the text. The two of them
share a mutual resignation to the absurd state of a world
that inhibits change. Molho sets up the comparison between
author and character as follows: "...la desconcertante
interseccidn de los caballeros chanflones y del picaro no
seria otra cosa sino una proyeccibn de Ouevedo que, en su
libro, se espeja en doble reflejo: a) como imagen de lo que

 

 

244

no quiere ser y que es: el caballero...hijo de algo y sefior
de nada; b) como un ser tendido todo en un inmenso esfuerzo
por salirse de su estado, y acceder por fin a la casta
superior de la que se siente excluido ab origine. Por eso
Ouevedo es tambien el picaro, el que por una convencion
formal de literature dice yo, y diciendo yo, enuncia una
problematica que no 5610 es la de un personaje y de una obra
de ficciOn, sino tambien, en la subsidencia de la ficcidn, la
de un ente real afanandose por resolver en creacion artistica
el conflicto que le opone a si mismo" (emphasis Molho's 126).
If the author really does find himself in a similar position
to his picaro, then he is most likely not trying to
artistically destroy Pablos, as some critics have purported,
but is probably agreeing and identifying with him through the
text. This would explain the absence of blatant antagonism
between them.

17The following list of the summarizing sentences at the
beginning of each chapter is included to show the frequency
of first versus third-person address:
I,i: "En que cuenta quien es y de dande"
I,ii: "De como fui a la escuela y lo que en ella me sucedio"
I,iii: ”De como fui a un pupilaje, por criado de don Diego
Coronel"
I,iv: ”De la convalecencia y ida a estudiar a Alcala de
Henares”
I,v: "De la entrada de Alcala, patente y burlas que me
hicieron por nuevo"
I,vi: "De las crueldades de la ama, y travesuras que yo hice"
I,vii: "De la ida de don Diego, y nuevas de la muerte de mi
padre y madre, y la resolucion que tome en mis cosas para
adelante"
II,i: "Del camino de Alcala para Segovia, y de lo que me
sucedio en él hasta Rejas, donde dormi aquella noche"
II,ii: "De lo que me sucedio hasta llegar a Madrid, con un
poeta"
II,iii: "De lo que hice en Madrid, y lo que me sucedio hasta
llegar a Cercedilla, donde dormi”
II,iv: ”Del hospedaje de mi tio, y visitas, la cobranza de mi
hacienda y vuelta a la corte"
II,v: "De mi huida, y los sucesos en ella hasta la corte"
II,vi: "En que prosigue el camino y lo prometido de su vida y
costumbres"
III,i: ”De lo que me sucedio en la corte luego que llegue
hasta que amanecib"
III,ii: ”En que prosigue la materia comenzada y cuenta
algunos raros sucesos"
III,iii: "En que prosigue la misma materia, hasta dar con
todos en la carcel"
III,iv: ”En que trata los sucesos de la carcel, hasta salir
la vieja azotada, los compafieros a la verguenza y yo en
fiado”
III,v: “De c6mo tome posada, y la desgracia que me sucedio en
ella"
III,vi: "Prosigue el cuento, con otros varios sucesos"

 

 

245

III,vii: "En que se prosigue lo mismo, con otros y desgracias
que me sucedieron"

III,viii: "De mi cura y otros sucesos peregrinos"

III,ix: "En que me hago representante, poeta y galan de
monjas"

III,x: "De lo que me sucedio en Sevilla hasta embarcarme a
Indias"

Of all these summarizing phrases only five of them are in the
third person. All of the rest include some sign (through
first—person narration) that Pablos is their author. The
first sentence has already been discussed with regard to its
possible authorship. Of the other four only two appear to
come from a pen other than Pablos' and which bespeak the
intrusion of the implied author. In II,vi, the demonstrative
adjective "su" refers to Pablos, and so cannot be spoken by
Pablos, but by some other voice in the text. Similarly in
III,ii, the verb "contar" is also in third person indicating
that someone else other than the narrator is talking here.

In the other two cases, I,iv is simply a general statement
that is devoid of a specific subject, and III, vi, the verb
"proseguir" is in third person, but its subject is "el
cuento." The point is that the intrusions by the author are
infrequent, but nevertheless telling. The initial one in I,i
that has been discussed at some length in this chapter, is
the most important, because it clearly demonstrates the order
of authority in the text: 1)author, 2)narrator, 3)character,
and makes it abundantly clear that there is a presence
watching over Pablos' shoulder from the very beginning.

1°Pablos narrates a whole series of events involving don
Diego to which he could not have been privy. For instance:
"...don Diego se puso a inquirir quien era y de que
vivia...andando en mi busca, topo con el licenciado
Flechilla, que fue el que me convido a comer cuando yo estaba
con los caballeros. Y este, enojado de camo yo no le habia
vuelto a ver, hablando con don Diego, y sabiendo como yo
habia sido su criado, le dijo de la suerte que me encontro
cuando me llevo a comer, y que no habia dos dias que me habia
topado a caballo muy bien puesto, y le habia contado camo me
casaba riquisimamente" (253-4). Pablos then goes on to tell
how Diego planned the attack on him, another set of
circumstances that he could not possibly have known: "No
aguardo mas don Diego, y, volviendose a su casa, encontro con
los dos caballeros del habito y la cadena amigos mios, junto
a la Puerta del Sol, y contOles lo que pasaba, y dijoles que
se aparejasen y, en viéndome a la noche en la calle, que me
magullasen los cascos; y que me conocerian en la capa que el
traia, que la llevaria yo” (254).

1"Peter Dunn supports the theory that the act of writing
itself represents a deception: ”The act of narration is the
last in a series of deceptions, and the writing is thus
continuous with his living" ("Problems“ 101). It is clear
from Dunn's words here that Pablos has not changed and that
the act of writing is a logical step in the picaro's cycle of

 

246

deception and revelation.

 

 

CONCLUSION

This study has addressed the topic of silence in the
picaresque novels from many different perspectives. Not only
have we examined its various types, but we have also seen how
it can be used as a tool by picaros and authors to achieve
certain narrative ends. The hope has been to show that
silence is a communicative device that can be manipulated to
convey important textual messages. In terms of the picaros,
silence is the force that threatens them, but, as we have
seen, it is also the force that allows them to acquire a
textual voice. Granted, the picaros do not completely escape
silence, but they are not completely consumed by it either.
Therefore, they have defied silence only to become marginal
figures once again. Considering the alternative of acquiring
no voice at all, as was the case of the picaros in Salas
Barbadillo and Castillo Soldrzano's novels, the marginal
status of our picaros must be seen in a positive light. What
follows are some final thoughts on silence and the resultant
marginal status of the picaros.

The picaros, who sought a means of escaping their
marginal societal existence through the composition of text,
are both successful and unsuccessful in their narrative
endeavour. The control over their stories, which would have

afforded them a position of authority in the text that was

247

248
denied them in society, is thwarted by the presence of the
implied author within their discourse. This authorial voice
reduces the picaros to a marginal status in the text.
Textual marginality is not an entirely negative prospect for
the picaros, however. Instead of thinking in terms of how
much of their voice has been silenced by the implied author,

we need to consider how much of their voice has managed to
escape silence. We also need to change our way of thinking
slightly to consider the picaros not so much as half-
outsiders (to use Claudio Guillen's term), but as half-
insiders, who have managed to assert themselves as key
players in the act of textual composition and who have defied
textual silence. In society they were simply anonymous
picaros, whereas in the text they become Lazaro, Guzman,
Justina and Pablos, voices that communicate a positive
message about silence and marginality.

As we have seen in this study, the subversion of the
picaros by the implied author can work to their advantage in
the struggle for fictional survival. Once we as readers
recognize the progressive silencing of the characters by the
implied authorial voice, then we can also feel sympathy for
the victimized, "unreliable" narrators and scorn for their
even more unreliable and subversive authors who corrupt and
attempt to silence the picaros' voice. Therefore, the
silence to which they are subjected, which initially was
perceived as an impediment to their freedom of expression,
can also be viewed as a positive force: "The silenced voice

bears a message of repression and a sign of hope" (Friedman

 

 

249
xi). Subversion does not lead to the silencing of the
picaros' voice, but rather allows us to perceive them as the
innocent victims of another textual entity.
Another manner in which the picaros' marginal position
can be perceived in a positive light is by examining the final

result of the struggle for authority between the narrators

and the implied authors of the texts that we have studied.
Although the picaros appear to be robbed of their narrative
control by the implied author, they still maintain a certain
degree of autonomy and authority in their texts that cannot
be taken away from them. As we have seen, absolute authority
is not only denied the picaros, it is also denied the implied
author, the implied reader, the other characters and however
many other voices affect the act of textual composition,
because absolute authority is a narrative impossiblity. The
authority of the text is shared by a composite of narrative
voices that functions as a complex dialectic, and the picaros
possess one of these voices. When seen in this light, the
implied author is as much a marginal and silent figure as the
picaro, and conversely, the picaro has as much of a voice as
the powerful implied author who subverts him.

Therefore, the picaros, although returned to a marginal
position, are not silenced. They still acquire a voice
through the act of textual composition. It does not matter
that their voice is voiced-over, or that it remains a
marginal one, the important factor is that they have acquired
a voice that authenticates their existence in a way that

their presence in society never could. It is precisely

 

 

250
because of this marginal status, somewhere between penning
the text and being penned by it, that allows them to escape
the silence that threatens them. Even though their attempt
to transcend social classes fails, their attempt to assert
themselves in text is a success. The picaros in essence
authenticate their own marginality, but it is precisely this
marginality that affords them a voice and allows them to
trascend something much more important than social class, it

allows them to transcend time through the pages of a book.

WORKS CONSULTED

 

 

WORKS CONSULTED

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el Buscén.“ Estudios Literarios de Hisganistas
Norteamericanos Dedicados a Helmut Hgtzfgld con Motivo
de su 80 Aniversario. Ed. Josep M. Sola-Solé,
Alessandro Crisafulli, Bruno Damiani. Barcelona:
Ediciones Hispam, 1974. 357-67.

---. "Nueva interpretacibn del episodio ‘Rey de gallos' del
Buscdn." Hisgandfila 16-17 (1973): 33-40.

Aleman, Mateo. Guzman dnglfarache. Ed. Benito Brancaforte.
2nd ed. Madrid: Catedra, 1981.

Alfaro, Gustavo. "EL cuento intercalado en la novela
picaresca." Hisgandfila 39 (1970): 1-8.

---. La estructura de la novela icaresca. Bogota: Caro y
Cuervo, 1977.

Alonso, Amado. "Un pasaje de La gicara Justina.” Revista de
Filologia Esgafiola 12 (1925): 179-80.

Alonso, Damaso. "El realismo psicolOgico en el Lazarillo." g;
gicaresca: Origenes, textogcy estructuras. Ed. Criado
de Val. Madrid: Fundacibn Universitaria Espafiola, 1979.
226-30.

Alter, Robert. Rogue's Progress: Studies in the Picaresgue
Novel. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964.

Alvarez, Guzman. "Interpretacién existencial del Lazarillo de
Tormes." La gicaresca: Origenes. textos y estructuras.
Ed. Criado de Val. Madrid: Fundacion Universitaria
Espafiola, 1979. 437-48.

Archer, Robert. "The Fictional Context of Lazarillo de
Tormes." Modern Language Review 80 (1985): 340-50.

Arias, Joan. Guzman dg Alfarache: The Unregentant Narrator.
London: Tamesis, 1977.

Auchard, John. Silence in Henry James: The Heritage of
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Ayala, Francisco. El "Lazarillo": Nugvo examen de algunos

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asgectos. Madrid: Taurus, 1971.

Bagby, Albert I. Jr. "The Conventional Golden Age Picaro and
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