Read Ebook: The White Knight: Tirant Lo Blanc by Galba Mart Joan De Martorell Joanot Rudder Robert S Translator

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: INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION

"Tirant lo Blanc is the best European novel of the fifteenth century," says Damaso Alonso in his excellent study. Miguel de Cervantes, writing from the 17th century, affirms: "as far as style is concerned, this is the best book in the world." If this is so, why has the novel all but disappeared from view?

Some place the blame on the language of the original: Catalan, whose literature is not widely read in the original tongue. Others say it is the fault of the erotic scenes

too shameful for the polite society of earlier times. To my mind, a heavily contributing factor is its rhetoric. As Joseph Vaeth says: "Within this work may be found religious and philosophical discourses, speeches and disputations...; formal debates...; documents and papers...; formal challenges and replies...; dramatic lamentations; long and fervent prayers; and allusions to classical Latin authors, to biblical characters and to figures prominent in medieval literature." He goes on to say that if the novelist had omitted many of these elements, "his book would in that case have been reduced to approximately one-fourth of its present size, but quite probably it would now be considered a masterpiece of narration and dialogue."

Such has been the aim of this translation: The story line has been slightly abridged, but the most dramatic change is that most of the rhetoric has been eliminated. If the reader's literary palate is tickled by this version, and if he would like to read the entire manuscript in English, he is referred to the version by David Rosenthal or to the even more complete translation by Ray La Fontaine.

Who was the author of this spicy, brutally realistic novel of kings and knights of the fifteenth century? We know that Joanot Martorell, son of the king's chamberlain, Francesc Martorell, was born in Valencia in about 1413. He lived in England during the years 1438 and 1439, and also traveled to Naples. Death came to him in 1468. During his life he wrote several letters of combat, and he began to write his novel Tirant lo Blanc in about 1460. Whether or not he actually finished the book is still a matter of debate, for it was not published during his lifetime. Another writer, Marti Joan de Galba, adds his name as a second author, and says that he wrote the last one-fourth of the book. But he died six months before it was published, and his contribution, if any, is questionable.

And what was the success of this novel? Only 715 copies were printed on its initial run in 1490, and apparently all were sold. A second edition did not appear until 1497. An abridged translation into Spanish was finally produced in 1511, and no further Spanish editions appeared until the 20th century. It was translated into Italian in the 16th century, into French in the 17th century, and finally into English late in the 20th century.

Of interest is the fact that soon after the appearance of Tirant lo Blanc, and throughout the 16th century, Spain was flooded with novels of chivalry. But these were of quite a different nature. Although the major characters are also knights highly instilled with the code of chivalry, they become involved in fantastic adventures filled with dragons, enchanters, and the like, following the lead of the French romances that were translated into Spanish beginning in the 13th century. These Spanish novels of chivalry were produced in such great numbers and read so widely that no less than Spain's great mystic, Saint Teresa of Avila, was for a time a voracious reader of them.

More important than any of these "sources", however, is this question: What did Martorell do with the material that came to him from books, from life, and from his imagination?

Cervantes, writing more than one hundred years after Tirant lo Blanc was published, was sufficiently impressed to talk about it in his Don Quixote not once, but on two separate occasions, in fairly glowing terms. Furthermore, some readers have pointed out scenes that appear to be similar in both books: both Philippe and Don Quixote find holes in their stockings, which leads one into great searching for a lost needle, and the other into even deeper depression; there is a cat-howling episode in both books, etc. And there is one other way that Tirant lo Blanc points the way toward the Quixote: in the framework. Cervantes uses a device often found in the novels of chivalry that preceded his work, stating that his book is no more than a "translation" from another language. But in the Quixote the device has a far deeper purpose: Cervantes informs us that Don Quixote is a flesh and blood figure whose real-life adventures appear in several Arabic histories, and one in particular, by a certain Cide Hamete Benengeli. With the aid of a translator, Cervantes says, he is now bringing the story of Don Quixote's life back into the Spanish tongue. What we have here is, of course, a ploy to make the characters seem more real, and Cervantes makes this assertion with a broad wink, for while we are "suspending our disbelief," we also know that it is nothing more than his artistry.

And what of Tirant lo Blanc? According to Martorell's dedication, his book is also a translation: from the English original, he is translating into Portuguese, and from the Portuguese into Catalan. But where is the English original from which this book is simply a translation? There is no character in English literature or history named Tirant lo Blanc, and discounting the beginning pages, taken from the "Guy of Warwick" romance, there is no book in English from which this one has been translated. As for the translation into Portuguese, there is no book about Tirant in that language. So why does Martorell tell us all this? Is this novel then, which Cervantes so admired, also presenting us with a "true history" which has been "translated" in a way similar to the Quixote? Within Tirant lo Blanc we also find allusions to historians who have "originally" set these words down. For example: "Here the book returns to the emperor..." "Hippolytus... performed singular acts of chivalry which this book does not relate, but defers to the books that were written about him." Is there any difference between this and the statements of Cervantes about his characters? But we are given no broad wink from Martorell. It is all true, he tells us, and there is nothing more to be said. That Martorell died before the work was published, and that Marti Joan de Galba may have made some additions before it was finally published, does not clarify the matter. For De Galba also affirms that the book is no more than a translation from the English to the Portuguese, and from that language into the Valencian tongue, and that he is merely finishing what Martorell was unable to complete.

There are no broad winks. But the characters belie the "history": They come to life as no straight-forward, factual history can bring its subjects to life. As Damaso Alonso so accurately puts it: this fifteenth century work "is precisely that whip that could excite Cervantes' imagination. Tirant was not yet the modern novel, but in it were many elements, and furthermore, essential elements of what would become the modern novel."

Having read this novel, who could forget the characters that Martorell has brought to life? Who would not feel grief at the death of Tirant and the princess, no less united in soul than Calisto and Melibea in Spain , than Romeo and Juliet in England, and no less tragic. And in remembering Tirant, who would not smile at the thought of him serving as a go-between for Prince Philippe and the infanta, Ricomana. Could anyone be more delightful than the forthright Plaerdemavida -- surely one of the best delineated characters in any literature. Or anyone more villainous than the odious Widow Repose -- a figure stamped indelibly on our minds, wearing her ridiculous red stockings and hat in the bath.

As Cervantes says: "In knights eat and drink, sleep and die in their own beds, and make their wills before they die..." And his praise for Tirant is also borne out by the characters in the Quixote. For in many of that book's most memorable episodes, they too eat and drink , they sleep , Don Quixote makes out his will , and finally he dies in his bed mind, or the windmill that was a giant, or the Cave of Montesinos, they have now come into existence in the mind of every reader of that novel. So may Tirant and his men, the princess, the emperor, Plaerdemavida, also come to life alongside the gentle and not so gentle folk of Cervantes, in every reader's imagination. Let me leave the reader with these words about Tirant lo Blanc by Cervantes: "Take him home and read him, and you will see that what I have said of him is true."

Finally, a word about this English translation which brings Martorell's work full circle, back into the English language from which he says he has translated it. My work was begun in 1976, and completed in 1982. Shortly afterward, the English translation by David Rosenthal appeared, which includes most of the "philosophical discourses, speeches", etc. that I have purposefully omitted. So my translation lay unmolested in a box during these past several years while the computer has been developing at breakneck speed, now allowing this great 15th century novel to be read, electronically, throughout the world. And more "finally", thanks to the many people who have supported me on this project and on others in the past: To Walter Pattison who awakened me to the excitement and beauty of Spanish literature; to my late friend, Arturo Serrano Plaja, who made a valiant attempt to refine my taste, and who guided me throughout the years; to my many colleagues and friends at the University of Minnesota; and also to good memories of several of my colleagues at UCLA: my dear friend, the late Richard Reeve, John Crow, the late Donald Fogelquist, Julio Rodgriguez Puertolas, Enrique Rodriguez Cepeda, Carlos Otero, Paul Smith, and of course the incredibly fine man to whom I dedicate this translation, and who helped me in my darkest hours: Jose Rubia Barcia. There being so many, if I have neglected anyone in particular, I pray and know that they will be more than understanding. Vale

Robert S. Rudder Claremont, California Nov. 1995

NOTES

Primavera de la literatura europea . p. 237.

Don Quixote. Tr. Walter Starkie. , pp. 89-90.

Tirant lo Blanc: A Study of Its Authorship, Principal Sources and Historical Setting , pp. 159-60.

David H. Rosenthal . Ray La Fontaine . Although Rosenthal's translation appeared in print first, the fact is that La Fontaine's more complete translation preceded it, lying in hibernation, much as my own manuscript, since 1974.

Madrid: Alianza, 1969. Tr. by J. F. Vidal Jove. Introduction by Mario Vargas Llosa. Also, further editions of the 1511 translation by Martin de Riquer and by F. Buendia .

Henry Thomas, Spanish and Portuguese Romances of Chivalry , pp. 32-33. It should also be noted that El cavallero Cifar, although not in print until 1512, was probably composed at the beginning of the 14th century. Amadis de Gaula, the model for so many imitations, and not printed until 1508, was in manuscript form in the 14th century.

p. 277

See the English translation by William Caxton: The Book of the Ordre of Chyualry. Westminster: William Caxton, 1484? And reprinted several times. For these and other medieval translations from the Spanish, the reader may wish to consult my bibliography: The Literature of Spain in English Translation. New York: Ungar, 1975.

See the English translation by Lady Goodenough: The Chronicle of Muntaner. London: Hakluyt Society, 1920-21.

After his initial words of praise , Cervantes adds this puzzling phrase: "the author deserves to be praised, for he did not deliberately commit all these follies, which had they been intentional would send him to the galleys for the rest of his life." Here, he is apparently condemning the book, although, in the next breath, the curate recommends the book to the barber: "Take him home and read him..." And in a later chapter Cervantes speaks of "the never enough to be praised Tirante the White." So what are we to make of this apparently condemnatory phrase about the "galleys"? Scholarship has provided some ingenious theories to negate the condemnation, to wit: it is not a statement, but a question; the galleys are less a punishment than a death sentence would be; it is not Cervantes' opinion, but the curate's; the word galleys actually refers to "galley-proofs" and mean that the work should remain in print forever, etc. Very interesting theories, but we are no more certain of the meaning behind Cervantes' words than when we first read them: they remain a puzzle. However, the novel Tirant lo Blanc also speaks to us: Do we feel that the novel is utter nonsense and badly written, or is it moving, at times exciting, often humorous? In short, is it good literature? Through our own eyes we can make a judgement about the meaning of those apparently incongruous words of Cervantes.

Footnote: pp. 203-204.

p. 90.

COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK

In the fertile, rich and lovely island of England there lived a most valiant knight, noble by his lineage and much more for his courage. In his great wisdom and ingenuity he had served the profession of chivalry for many years and with a great deal of honor, and his fame was widely known throughout the world. His name was Count William of Warwick. This was a very strong knight who, in his virile youth, had practiced the use of arms, following wars on sea as well as land, and he had brought many battles to a successful conclusion.

The count found himself at the advanced age of fifty-five, and moved by divine inspiration he decided to withdraw from the practice of arms and make a pilgrimage to the holy land of Jerusalem. This virtuous count wanted to go, because he felt sorrow and contrition for the many deaths he had caused in his youth.

That evening he told the countess, his wife, about his plans, and although she was virtuous and discreet, she became very upset at the news because she loved him so much. In the morning the count had all his servants, both men and women, come to him, and he said:

"My children and most faithful servants, it is the will of His Divine Majesty that I should leave you, and the time of my return is uncertain. Since the journey will be very dangerous, I want to pay each of you now for all the good services you have rendered to me."

He had a large chest full of money brought out, and to each of his servants he gave much more than he owed, so that they were all very satisfied. Then he gave the countess all his land and all his rights. And he ordered that a ring of gold be made with his and the countess's coat of arms on it, and this ring was made in such a way that it was divided into two parts. Each part was a complete ring in itself, showing half the coat of arms of each of them, and when the two halves were joined together the entire coat of arms could be seen.

When all this had been done, he turned to the virtuous countess, and said kindly:

"I know that you will accept my departure with love and patience, and if it is God's will, my journey will soon be over. I am leaving in your charge everything I have. And here is half of the ring I had made. I beg you dearly to hold it in my stead, and to guard it until I return."

"Oh, dear!" cried the countess. "Then it's true, my lord, that you are leaving without me? At least allow me to go with you so that I can serve you. I would rather die than go on living without you. Just when I was thinking that all my misfortunes were over, I see that my unhappiness is only increasing. I'm left with only this poor son as a pledge from his father, and his sad mother must be consoled with him."

She seized her small son by the hair and pulled it, and then slapped his face, saying:

"Cry, my child, for your father's departure, and you will be good company to your mother."

The tiny infant, who had been born only three months before, burst out crying. The count, seeing both mother and child in tears, felt deeply grieved, and he could not hold back his own tears. And for some time he could not speak, while all three of them wept.

The count took his leave of her, kissing her again and again, tears running freely from his eyes. He said farewell to the other ladies, and when he left he took only one squire with him.

Leaving his city of Warwick, he boarded a ship, and sailed with a good wind, and as time passed he arrived safely at Alexandria. There he disembarked and made his way to Jerusalem. When he reached Jerusalem he confessed his sins, and with great devotion he received the precious body of Jesus Christ. Then he entered the holy sepulchre of Jesus Christ and prayed there fervently and tearfully, with great contrition for his sins.

After visiting all the other sanctuaries, he returned to Alexandria. Then he boarded a ship and went to Venice. When he was near Venice he gave all the money still in his possession to his squire who had served him well, and he arranged a marriage for him so that he would not want to return to England. Then he had his squire spread the news that he had died, and he arranged for merchants to write to England that Count William of Warwick had died while returning from the Holy Land of Jerusalem.

When the countess heard the news, she felt deeply grieved, and went into mourning, and she arranged for the funeral rites that such a virtuous knight deserved. With the passing of time, the count returned alone to his own land, having let his hair grow down to his shoulders, while his beard, completely white, reached to his waist. He was dressed in the habit of the glorious Saint Francis, and lived from charity, and he secretly entered a devout hermitage of Our Lady which was very close to his city of Warwick.

This hermitage was in a lovely spot on a high mountain, with a dense thicket of trees, and a clear running spring. The count retired to this solitary place, and lived alone to escape the materialistic world and to do penance for his sins. Living from charity, he went to his city of Warwick once a week to beg for alms. With his thick beard and long hair the people there did not recognize him, and he went to the countess, his wife, to beg. When she saw him asking for charity so humbly, she made them give him more than they gave any of the others. And he spent his poor, miserable life this way for some time.

Some time later the great King of Canary was filled with anger because some pirate ships had plundered a village that belonged to him. He left his land with a large armada, and sailing with a favorable wind he reached the fertile, peaceful shores of England.

In the dark of night the entire fleet entered the port of Southampton and all the Moors went ashore very quietly. When they were on land, they put their troops in order and began to attack the island.

When the peace-loving king received the news, he gathered as many men as he could to put up a resistance, and went into battle with the Moors. The fighting was great, indeed: many men died, especially the Christians. Because the Moors were greater in number, the forces of the English king were destroyed. He had to retreat with his remaining men, and he took refuge in a city called Saint Thomas of Canterbury where that holy body now rests.

The King of England mustered more men, and he learned that the Moors were conquering the island, killing many Christian men and dishonoring the women and young girls, making captives of them all. When this Christian king discovered that the Moors held the pass near a watercourse, he placed his forces in a passage at the hour of midnight. But he did not do it very secretly, and the Moors heard of it, and held back until it was broad daylight. Then they pressed them in a very cruel battle where many Christians died, and those whose lives were spared fled with the unfortunate king, while the Moorish king remained in the camp.

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