SOURCE: "Juan and Sisyphus in Carpentier's 'El Camino de Santiago,'" in Hispania, Vol. XLVIII, No. 1, March, 1965, pp. 70-5.

[In the following essay, Verzasconi discusses how Carpentier uses the myth of Sisyphus in his portrayal of Juan in "El Camino de Santiago."]

"¿Qué capitán es este, qué soldado de la guerra del tiempo?" With this quotation from Lope de Vega, Alejo Carpentier prefaces Guerra del tiempo, a collection of three short stories and a novel. "Ese Capitán, ese Soldado," write the editors in the prologue to the volume, "es el Hombre, siempre semejante a sí mismo, inmensamente fiel a sus 'constantes,' aunque el Tiempo transcurra."

A concern for the essence of Man must necessarily be a fundamental part of any author whose work is worthy of critical evaluation. In at least two of the works of Alejo Carpentier, that Captain-Soldier, who represents the core of all that is Man, finds its expression through a re-interpretation of an ancient myth—the myth of Sisyphus. In the novel Los pasos perdidos, the Sisyphus theme is central and explicit, though no one, to my knowledge, has fully studied its significance. In "El camino de Santiago," the first story in the volume cited above, the theme remains central, but it can only be established through a series of inferences. Nowhere does Carpentier specifically mention Sisyphus.

The Sisyphean label has been given most frequently to the man whose journey through life has consisted of an endless and fruitless task. This view of Sisyphus, representing futile and recurrent toil, comes not from his life on earth but from his punishment in the underworld. He is most often portrayed in Hades, where he must push a heavy stone over one mountain to another mountain. He never succeeds, however, because the weight of the rock overcomes him and he is forced to let it roll back to the plain, where he must then descend to begin his task anew.

Given Ernst Cassirer's judgment, however, that "the primitive mind was not aware of the meaning of its own creations," and that it is for us "to reveal this meaning," a belief which Carpentier has certainly followed, we will find that the protagonist of our story is not the traditional Sisyphus. If we are to understand the symbolism, if not the underlying principle of the myth as Carpentier portrays it, we must first examine certain primal experiences in Sisyphus' terrestrial life.

The great flaw in Sisyphus' character was produced by his dogmatic belief in a myth, which can have many names, but which was essentially the myth of eternal terrestrial freedom. He so loved life that he often chose to scorn the gods, and twice, to defy Death. Once he put Death in chains and only the god of war, on the order of Pluto, was able to free her from her conqueror. And once, after having obtained the permission of Pluto to make a brief return to the world in order to punish his wife—for a crime which he himself had ingeniously devised—Sisyphus decided to remain indefinitely. The anger and threats of the gods were of no avail. Finally, Hermes was sent to snatch Sisyphus away from his earthly pleasures. Before he was forced to begin his life of eternal slavery in the underworld, therefore, Sisyphus had successfully defied the gods and had temporarily obtained terrestrial freedom.

To understand another possible source for Carpentier's Sisyphean interpretation, a brief explanation of Camus' Le Mythe de Sisyphe will be helpful. As Camus views him, Sisyphus eventually triumphs over the unscrupulous gods who condemned him. As he stands briefly at the top of the mountain and watches his rock descend to the plain, Camus' Sisyphus finds happiness in his torment for it is the result of his own creation, which can have no more depth than that of human suffering. Happiness and hope are not synonymous for Sisyphus, however. Sisyphus is a tragic hero, according to Camus, because he realizes that there is no hope. But he finds happiness by self-deception and ends by concluding that "all is well." As he descends to the plain to begin his task anew, Camus believes that Sisyphus must accept his rock willingly, for in doing so, he not only acknowledges his wretched condition in the face of the gods, but ironically, he also acknowledges his triumph over their punishment.

Viewed in this light, Sisyphus can no longer represent futile and recurrent toil. For the accomplishment of his task, however trivial, is entirely of his own making, and his rock, however small in comparison to the universe, has become his own universe, governed entirely by his own capabilities.

Juan de Amberes, the symbolic protagonist of "El camino de Santiago," is not, as I have stated, the ancient Sisyphus nor is he an exact replica of Camus' Sisyphus. Yet, as he wanders through time as Juan de Amberes, Juan el Romero, and Juan el Indiano he represents another interpretation of the principle behind the myth, an interpretation which espouses certain ideas from both of its predecessors.

Juan's mask, to begin with, is a modern one and more complex than that of his ancient counterpart and it is more detailed than the mask created by Camus. He lives in a Christian world, or more appropriately a Catholic world of sixteenth century Spain, whosé implications must be taken into account. Moreover, as a mere soldier, Juan de Amberes must pay homage to a terrestrial king as well as to a divine ruler, whereas Sisyphus, as king of Corinth, had only to answer to the gods.

As a soldier, Juan de Amberes faithfully serves his king in Amsterdam. As a Spaniard, and thus a Catholic soldier, who has helped burn Protestants at the stake, he also served his God, despite the fact that he has not led a virtuous life. But his service to both his earthly and divine rulers does not long continue. The appearance of a plague changes the course of his life.

On the surface, Juan appears to react to the plague as a devout, sixteenth century Catholic; that is, he interprets it as a sign of divine punishment and he thus vows to make a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in order to save his soul. But Juan, like the ancient terrestrial Sisyphus, loves life too much and his first concern is to save his body. He attempts to deceive his God by feigning illness, "para que Dios, compadecido de quien se creía enfermo, no le mandara cabalmente la enfermedad." Not until a visionary appearance of the Duque de Alba frightens him does Juan really decide to go to Santiago. One immediately recalls that it was Hermes, who as magician and messenger was qualified to guide the souls of the dead to Hades, who was sent to take Sisyphus away from his earthly pleasures. The Duque de Alba, for his relentless and ruthless persecution of the Lutherans in the Netherlands, acted likewise as a representative or messenger for both his Catholic king and Catholic god. Moreover, in his visionary appearance, the Duque de Alba displays his magical or supernatural powers.

To the heretic, of which Juan fears he might be suspect of being if he did not go to Santiago, Alba represents physical death; and to Juan, a Catholic, he also represents spiritual damnation. Santiago de Compostela offers him the possibility of saving both his body and soul. As the firmament brightens, symbolic perhaps of the presence of the Holy Ghost, Juan falls to his knees and cries out, "¡El Camino de Santiago!"

His intention is far from being sincere, or if it is, its meaningfulness is soon obliterated. Once Juan de Amberes leaves Amsterdam, he leaves behind him the plague and with it the fear of a physical death. Now, as Juan el Romero, he seemingly has defied, as the ancient Sisyphus had done, his worst enemy. His "calabaza" which first carries only "agua de arroyos" is soon filled with the spirit of Bacchus. The farther he is from Amsterdam and the plague, the more defiant he becomes of his God. He happily thinks of "aquellas mozas de Amberes, de carnes abundosas, que gustaban de los flacos españoles," and the wine in his "calabaza" is eventually replaced with "aguardiente."

By the time he reaches Burgos, which stands before Compostela like a beastly temptress who prevents the weak from reaching moral perfection, Juan completely forgets his vow to go to Santiago, for in Burgos "una moza le coge en su cama hasta mañana." As a Catholic who has continued to defy his God, despite the anger and threats presented in the form of a plague and a vision, Juan can expect his just retribution in an afterlife. In this fact, he is not unlike the ancient Sisyphus. But Juan's God is not as severe as were the ancient gods. Hope is never denied to him by his God.

In his search for absolute and eternal freedom, Juan temporarily rejects the "myth" of Santiago de Compostela and he is attracted to another myth, the "myth" of Santiago de Cuba, the "myth" of America. Though both Santiagos stand as the baptismal avenue to moral perfection and spiritual salvation, Juan creates a terrestrial burden for himself, a burden which can only offer him eternal damnation.

Juan is soon convinced that America will offer him everything he has ever desired: freedom from responsibility, freedom from the corruption of civil authority, and freedom from the corruption of divine authority for in America "la misma Inquisición tenía la mano blanda." But America, which could still offer him his freedom, his triumph over the corruptive forces of civil and divine authority, and his eventual moral perfection will become the mountain up which he will be condemned to push his self-created stone.

When Juan el Romero reaches Sevilla, one is given the first indication of the forthcoming torture, "porque Juan, en sus andanzas por el laberinto bético, se asombraba ante el gran portento de los humanos colores." The Andalusian country-side, swarming with American natives and other foreigners, stands as the entrance to the inescapable labyrinth which, like that built by Daedalus for the beastly Minotaur, would be responsible for the torture and downfall of all of those who entered it. Once Juan accepts the "myth" of America and enters into the labyrinth, he chooses eternal damnation for himself and his eventual repentance will be of no avail.

Juan presently begins his education—to contemplate his fate. He discovers that even on the high seas he is not really free because his government will not allow him to go to Mexico.

Juan recibió la nueva con pataleos y blasfemias. Pensó luego que era castigo de Dios por no haber llegado hasta Compostela. Pero a punto apareció el Indiano de la feria de Burgos en el albergue de viajeros, para decirle que una vez cruzado el Mar Océano, podría reírse de los ofjciales del Consejo, pasando a donde mejor le viniera en ganas, como hacían los más cazurros. Y así, ya sin enojo, anda Juan.

By the time the ship approaches Cuba, "el ingrato camino para alcanzar la fortuna estaba cansando ya a Juan," as the weight of the rock must have begun to tire Sisyphus as he approached the top of the mountain. Now in America, where "todo es chisme, insidias, comadreros, cartas que van, cartas que vienen, odios mortales, envidias sin cuento," Juan is disillusioned. He curses the "indiano que le hiciera embarcar para esta tierra roñosa." How else indeed must Sisyphus have felt as he watched his rock descend to the plain for the first time? Now both Juan and Sisyphus, especially as Camus views the latter, can contemplate the absurdity of their fate in its entirety. Juan's effort to escape the corruption of civil and divine authority and Sisyphus' effort to push his stone upward have both ended in nothingness.

Juan is not prepared to accept the inevitable, however, as no man is after his first defeat. After he stabs a fellow adventurer, Juan escapes into the wilderness in order to hide from the justice of the governor. There in that wilderness, among the Calvinists, the Jew, and the Indians, all of them outcasts, Juan stands at the top of his mountain, turns and contemplates the world which stretches out before him on the plain below. Before he leaves that mountain retreat, he is offered salvation once more, and once again he will reject it.

His education continues with a confession. "¡Yo he matado!" he tells the Calvinist, "para tratar de descender en lo posible, al nivel de quien acaba de confesar el peor crimen." His immediate concern is still for his life because the Calvinist is pointing a firearm at him. But shortly the thought of his being a murderer will reoccur to him, and when it does he will think not of one murder, but many.

As the Calvinist describes to him the assassination of six hundred of his religious comrades in America, Juan realizes that such a punishment "le parecía un poco subido, y más aquí donde las víctimas, en verdad, en nada molestaban." Now Juan, "que ha visto enterrar mujeres vivas y quemar centenares de luteranos en Flandes, y hasta ayudó a arrimar la leña al brasero y empujar las hembras protestantes a la hoya, considera las cosas de distinta manera." It may be political and religious expediency in the Old World for man to fight over theological questions, he concludes, but in the New World, man, in his primitive state, has no need for either political or religious institutions.

And there in the wilderness, with his fellow outcasts, "ha encontrado Juan amparo contra la justicia del gobernador, y calor de hombres." Thus, for a brief moment, Juan finds happiness, not by accepting his burden, but by being allowed to taste briefly of the absolute freedom which he seeks.

But his education, or his own punishment, is not yet complete. Juan must return to the plain, as every man must eventually return to his burden. Or as Carpentier expresses it at the conclusion of Los pasos perdidos, "Hoy terminaron las vacaciones de Sísifo." In the lonely atmosphere of the wilderness, Juan, like all of his companions with the exception of the natives, is beset by melancholy. That melancholy leads him to believe that he is still a Christian, or that he should be, and he reaffirms his belief in his God.

He soon finds himself in the midst of another plague. "Juan se enfurece, patalea, grita, al verse envuelto por tantas mosquillas negras que zumban en sus oídos," and exhausted he falls asleep. His dream is symbolic as was the first dream in Amsterdam. Again, it appears as if his God is offering him the way to spiritual salvation. But this time, Juan finds the doors of the cathedral in Compostela closed to him. "Quiere entrar y no puede. Llama y no le oyen." But even though Juan has been allowed to contemplate the hopelessness of his fate, as a Catholic, he can cling stubbornly to the hope that was once given to him by the God that would now destroy it.

On his return to Spain, therefore, Juan again believes that he will carry out his original promise to go to Santiago. But as he approaches land, he suddenly feels "que el haber estado allá, en las Indias, le hace indiano. Así, cuando desembarque, será Juan el Indiano." And so, Juan el Indiano, completely lost in the labyrinth, does not reach Santiago de Compostela, and he never will.

When Juan el Indiano and the new Juan el Romero set out again for Sevilla, to complete anew the circular pilgrimage, the two represent the totality of Carpentier's Sisyphean character. Juan-Sisyphus is Man searching for eternal terrestrial freedom, but never being able to obtain it because he has failed to realize that freedom and moral perfection are synonymous. Though he could enjoy the fruit of that freedom in the American wilderness, which seems to symbolize the last vestige of the "Garden of Eden" before the "fall" of man, Juan continues to reject it and condemns himself eternally to his rock—his own immorality. That immorality, in turn, corrupts his only other opportunity for moral perfection and spiritual salvation—his church-state, his civilization.

Despite his hopelessness, Juan, like Camus' Sisyphus, manages to triumph over the power of his God. By accepting the "myth" of Santiago de Compostela only when faced with death, Juan decides to shoulder his own burden, to create his own universe, however absurd his destiny may be. For a brief moment, which is his life-time, Juan curses the plague of death and deceives his God. But Juan is not the noble and tragic Sisyphus of which Camus speaks. Juan triumphs over his God only because that God has promised him eternal salvation. It is a triumph offered to him by the generosity of that God. Unlike Camus, Carpentier sees his Sisyphus as a contemptuous anti-hero, who triumphs at the expense of human dignity.

But by accepting the "myth" of Santiago, if only momentarily, Juan, too, acknowledges his weakness in relation to his God. He, too, confirms the fact that he is, after all, a slave, obeying the commands of his God. And thus, Santiago says what now must be obvious to Juan.

Y cuando los Juanes Ilegan a la Casa de la Contratación, tienen ambos—con el negro que carga sus collares—tal facha de pícaros, que la Virgen de los Marcantes frunce el ceño al verlos arrodillarse ante su altar.

—Dejadlos, Señora—dice Santiago, hijo de Zebedeo y Salomé, pensando en las cien ciudades nuevas que debe a semejantes truhanes. Dejadlos, que con ir allá me cumplen.

These two Juans, and others like them, will, despite their lack of human dignity, establish new shrines and new cities for their God in the New World. And in doing so, they will continue to offer hope, if not for themselves, for others who will follow them.

Though, in its essence, this hope has no limitations, and I do not believe that Carpentier intends for it to have such limitations, it appears in "El camino de Santiago" to be directed toward the completion of the great American adventure, which, in Latin America, has been and essentially remains a Spanish-Catholic venture. For in America, Man, in his primitive state, can yet realize that morality, though it distinguishes him from his beastly cousins, is part of his primal essence. And it is this primitive morality alone which can now relieve Juan-Sisyphus of his human burden. For Carpentier, it seems that moral perfection and spiritual salvation through Santiago de Compostela—an avenue closed by man's own corruption—will remain impossible until man realizes and accepts the true essence of Santiago de Cuba, of America, of his primitive and prehistorical being.