[In the following essay, Myers presents a structural analysis of The Book of Good Love.]

The aim of this paper is to propose a tentative hypothesis for an outline of the Libro de buen amor, attempting to identify the larger structural units of the work and demonstrate their functions and interrelations.¹

One may find himself in ready agreement with most current interpretations of the Libro, as inconsistent or contradictory as they may be, largely because of the careful selection by critics of their supporting evidence. The Libro de buen amor is, as it were, simultaneously didactic, allegorical, satirical, cynical, deeply religious, anti-clerical, constructed with great art, yet apparently thrown together haphazardly, imbued with the spirit of life, but preoccupied with death. Great attention has been given to the author's presumed intentions, as to whether or not he was “serious” or sought merely to amuse, and the difficulty of demonstrating that either of these postures is manifest at every point throughout the work increases accordingly as the critic adopts a narrower and narrower focus. In a way the problem stems from having insisted on reading the Libro as a single work conceived and written in one burst of artistic effort. The full implications of the multiple versions and variant readings are only recently finding their way into interpretive studies.

The alleged inconsistency in the Archpriest's point of view is much less than one would find in examining different works of a given author, written at different times, for different purposes, and in different genres. The unity of the work is not only that of a single mind, which has grown and expanded over many years. We may well think of an ordered compilation, prepared by the author later on in years, in which the art lies as much or more in the putting together as in the original writing. In the present study, we must start from the assumption that the Libro as we have it represents the basic artistic intent of its author, and must reject any notion of random or casual placing of its elements (although we may often suspect accidental or inadvertent dislocations). We must also set aside any reservations about the importance of this work to its author; his essential “seriousness” of creative intent is obvious throughout, but this does not imply that vast portions are not written with tongue in cheek, rather that he viewed his calling as rigorously nontrivial.²

I further draw as prior conclusions, setting the frame for discussion, that the Libro is a unified whole, from which there may be missing certain passages or episodes, or even entire sets of interpolations (and not excluding the possibility that some of our extant text may be by a later hand), and that there is a beginning (or several beginnings) and that the whole comes to a conclusion; the work was not composed at one time, and the author has incorporated selections done earlier and independently into the final redaction, very likely with appropriate modifications to fit the final form; the odd items appearing in S or in G at the end may be viewed as independent productions that did not find their way into the Libro proper; and, regardless of the sequence of composition, the 1330 text established the basic shape, which is merely amplified in the later version, so that the placing of the episodes as well as of the introductory and concluding passages is already determined in the earliest form we know.

I further take for granted (though without demonstration) that the theme of the work is the variety of love, that the aim is didactic (in the sense of teaching what the poet has learned of the ways of the world, but without narrow moral concerns), and that artistic-esthetic factors may outweigh all others at any given point (i.e., that in any conflict of interests the poet will dominate over the moralist).

Now consider the work as composed of two principal divisions, separated by an interlude of divergent, contrastive character. The two divisions are (roughly) mirror images, the second reversing the structure of the first. The interlude (adventures with the serranas) is linked thematically with the first and structurally with the second. A number of recurrent themes and topics can be identified in the Prologue (in Part I) and in the Epilogue (in Part II), occurring in a generally reversed order also. Stylistically, Part I is built up of increasing tension leading to a climax; Part II descends from the triumph of love through relaxation and reflection to resignation.³

The Epilogue (i.e., 1508-1634, or the portions following the death of Doña Garoza) refers explicitly at least twice to passages in Part I. Stanza 1626 repeats 19, citing Saint Mary as the inspiration of the work, as the beginning and root of all good;⁴ and 1583 recalls the cardinal sins itemized in stanzas 217-387 as part of the charges leveled against Don Amor.⁵ But other parallels can be added: the two male go-betweens, both provided with names;⁶ concern for correct interpretation of the work;⁷ desire for brevity;⁸gozos of Mary.⁹ In general, the earlier these topics occur at the beginning, the closer they fall to the end.¹⁰ The impression is strong that the author intended to balance the ending very clearly against the beginning, thus tying together other threads of allusion to the Prologue, to be associated with the dedication there of all his efforts to Mary, “comienzo y fin del bien,” and now finishing the book with reminiscences of attitudes expressed much earlier.

Parallels of a subtler sort between Prologue¹¹ and Epilogue may be cited, as the one can be seen as a series of beginnings and the other as repeated endings. The Prologue contains very little set forth on its own merits; everything is designed to lead into the succeeding subsection, or to prepare the reader-hearer for what is to follow. This is clear in the first 70-odd stanzas, but I further argue that even the early amorous misadventures, beginning with 77, serve primarily to justify the posture of the poet in his bout with Don Amor. The Prologue, among many other matters, sets forth the precise philosophical attitudes and the necessary failures of technique that make the complex but unified narrative that follows understandable, from the appearance of Don Amor in the poet's dream to the marriage of Don Melón and Doña Endrina. The pattern of abrupt transition in the Prologue is replaced by a logical and smooth sequence of events through stanza 909.¹² The Prologue also must be of sufficient length for the work it bounds. The poet needs a long and detailed introduction, since he knows that two very long sets of narratives are to follow. The reader must be prepared for this extensive journey not only in understanding but also in tempo.¹³

Although the death of Doña Garoza marks the end of the unified narrative, a termination at this point or after only a few more stanzas would be unsatisfyingly abrupt. The episodes that follow do not have the force of the preceding, and lack a certain cohesion that may be sensed earlier. The death of Trotaconventos could be read perhaps as the proper conclusion, with the Epilogue to begin after the epitaph; but such a view would detract from the strategic placing of the Doña Garoza episode and diminish it in significance, and emphasize beyond measure the passing of Trotaconventos. The Libro continues, nevertheless, through a series of possible endings which do not end but lead into a digression and further delay. As much as a desire to tie up loose ends, as the allusions to the Prologue suggested above, one feels a reluctance to be done with it, a desire to cling to life and love long past possible time, which the poet expresses further by his invitation to others to tack on what they feel necessary (1629ab). He can scarcely bring himself to make his final departure, just as he had welcomed the reader again and again some 6500 verses before.

Tension in Part I is built up by arousing in the reader greater and greater expectations, leading to a climax. The Prologue prepares him for the poet's feeling of bitterness toward Don Amor. He soon sees that the statement of charges will be of considerable length, when he perceives the accusations are leveled in a series of nuclei, each nucleus being a separate charge illustrated by a fable,¹⁴ and as the failings of Don Amor are identified with the cardinal sins, the reader knows that this will stretch through at least seven such nuclei. The actual presentation runs somewhat longer, with the customary ironic disclaimer of prolixity, leaving the reader now to anticipate a defense from Don Amor comparable in length. This is immediately forthcoming, but with the moderation appropriate to his station; the nuclear format established before serves Don Amor just as effectively. The reader, accustomed to the structure of the nucleus at the microcosmic level, must feel intuitively that all this theorizing will lead into an illustrative fable in the macrocosmos. And if my interpretation is correct, this is precisely what he is given: the tale of Don Melón and Doña Endrina fulfills the same structural function in the overall form of Part I as does any one of the brief fables in its more restricted range. The reader has been led along from the beginning, from stage to stage, to the triumphant climax, and finds himself seduced by the poet in much the same way as Doña Endrina was herself.

The sequence of serranas is a set of variations on a single theme, forming a grotesque parody of the idealistic portraits presented in Part I and an ironic commentary on the unexpected position of the poet (from pursuer to pursued) in these encounters. But it also looks ahead to Part II with a new preoccupation, precision of time and setting, the concern of an older man. The function of this curious interlude is to provide both a breather and a bridge.¹⁵ Its function must be considered in terms of the length of the work, almost as if it were an entremés between the two long acts of the play. It continues the coarse spirit of some of the tales of Part I, although the intention seems to be rather the direct contrast in all respects to the poet's earlier unsuccessful attempts on ladies of a nobler sort; the serranas can be appreciated only if one has read and understood the essence of the Art of Love in Part I.

The ties to Part II are viewed here as stylistic, but in a somewhat limited sense.¹⁶ The autobiographical events of Part I are placed in indefinite time: “Assí fue que un tiempo una dueña me priso” (77a); “Dirévos la pelea que una noche me avino” (181a); “Seyendo después desto sin amor e cuidado” (910a). But beginning with the stanzas of transition (945, of doubtful connection, as noted above), and then in particular with the trip to the sierras (950), we see the poet's desire to locate each tale in a specific month or on a definite date: “Era de março el mes, salido era el verano” (945a); “En el mes era de março, el día de Sant Meder” (951a); “Lunes ante el alva comencé mi camino” (993a). Only one comparable date may be found in the story of Doña Endrina (“Después fue de Santiago, otro día siguiente: / a ora de mediodía” 871ab), whereas in the battle between Doña Cuaresma and Don Carnal, which naturally depends on the exact sequence of holy days for its allegorical effects, stanza after stanza reminds us scrupulously what day it is, or even the time of day: “lunes mañana” (1184a); “El sábado por noche” (1208b); “Vigilia era de Pasqua, abril cerca passado; / el sol era salido, por el mundo raya(n)do” (1210ab); “Día era muy santo de la pasqua mayor, / el sol salié muy claro e de noble color” (1225ab.)¹⁷ This pattern does not end with the allegory, but continues in the next narrative opening, which takes place on the Día de Casimodo (1315a); when the poet first sees the lady, “Día era de Sant Marcos” (1321a); and after the death of Trotaconventos, the poet seeks the aid of Hurón, “Salida de febrero e entrada de março” (1618a). This narrative gambit, not introduced in the style of the Libro's tales before the serranas, becomes a characteristic feature of Part II (but not of the Doña Garoza episode), providing an unmistakable link with the apparently rather remote entremés that went before. Whether or not one can accept the notion suggested here, that the concern for temporal precision indicates the heightened awareness of the transitory nature of the world by a man past his youth, paralleling the preoccupation with death that moves gradually to dominate Part II,¹⁸ it is clear that it does serve to bind the various segments in the second half of the Libro into more of a stylistic whole, distinguishing it in a superficial but noticeable way from the first.

A further point to be noted in comparing Parts I and II is a toning down of exuberance, an increase in abstract reflection and melancholy, a new mesura. The fables are less lusty in the second part, the references to sexual activities are less frequent and less explicit; after the coarseness of the interlude in the mountains, the poet seems to swing around to greater idealism.¹⁹ The triumph of Love in the Don Carnal allegory removes the concept of love to a higher plane, and the poet's one success, cut short by death, must be read as Platonic.²⁰ Where earlier he attacked Don Amor through ignorance and lack of experience, now all his actions and thoughts are informed by the intervening adventures. His digressions also are on a more serious plane, as though he were reflecting upon past sins and seeking comfort in the knowledge that absolution may yet be obtained. The pace is more leisurely, even in the scenes of battle.²¹ The impetuous Don Melón is succeeded by the more mature lover of Doña Garoza. The wooing of the nun does not race to an explosive climax, such as is clearly evident even in the incomplete text of the Doña Endrina story, but reaches its sublime moment with severely controlled intensity.²² The death of Doña Garoza marks the end of love for the poet, apparently for all time, and ends the main current of the book for the reader.

The end of love returns the poet to the status he had found himself in at the end of the Prologue (st. 180), but now without expectations; everything lies behind him as earlier everything had lain before. The major episodes in his tale were Doña Endrina and its allegorical counterpart Don Carnal, both representing the triumph of love. Part I leads up to the triumph, Part II fades away from it. The Libro is not horizontal, linear, sequential; it ascends to a plateau and falls away from it gradually, passing by familiar landmarks. The pervading moods of the two paths ascending and descending are characterized, respectively, by tumescence and detumescence. …

The significance of the bipartite division argued here is that it offers an escape from a dilemma in the interpretation of the work. It can now be asserted that the duality of attitude in the poet, which has troubled so many critics, is reflected in the two parallel but opposing divisions of the Libro. The didactic message of Part I is that love is inseparable from life and stems unavoidably from our very existence. Part II teaches that love leads inevitably to death, and that there is no hope of lasting love on earth except the love of God. There is no contradiction, and no more inconsistency than there is in the life of any man. The cycle of life, love and death, and of sin, repentance and absolution, is repeated in everyone as we all follow the path of the Libro de buen amor.

Notes

1. An earlier version of this article was read at the Kentucky Foreign Language Conference, April 1970.

   The germ for this contribution is a remark in M. R. Lida de Malkiel, Two Spanish Masterpieces: The Book of Good Love and The Celestina (U. of Illinois Press, 1961), pp. 49-50: “The Book concludes with careful symmetry. … The true conclusion of the Book, matching the long introduction (44 ff.), is the Epilogue entitled ‘How the Archpriest Says this Book of his Should be Understood …’” Closest to my views are those of R. M. Walker, “Towards an Interpretation of the Libro de buen amor,” BHS [Bibliotheque d'Humanisme et Renaissance], 42 (1966), 1-10; he amplifies these in “Con miedo de la muerte la miel non es sabrosa: Love, Sin and Death in the Libro de buen amor,” in “Libro de buen amor” Studies, ed. G. B. Gybbon-Monypenny (London, 1970), pp. 231-52. Very suggestive has been D. Catalán, “Aunque omne non goste la pera del peral: Sobre la ‘sentencia’ de Juan Ruiz y la de su Buen Amor,” in Studies in Memory of Ramón Menéndez Pidal, HR [Hispanic Review], 38, v (Nov. 1970), 56-96 (with Suzy Petersen).

   Of the earlier standard critics, the writings of M. R. Lida de Malkiel, F. Lecoy, L. Spitzer, and R. Menéndez Pidal have, of course, been the most useful. Of other works appearing since 1960, the following seem most relevant: C. Gariano, El mundo poético de Juan Ruiz (Madrid, 1968); O. H. Green, Spain and the Western Tradition (Madison, 1963); G. B. Gybbon-Monypenny, “The Two Versions of the Libro de buen amor: The Extent and Nature of the Author's Revisions,” BHS, 38 (1962), 205-21; R. Lapesa, “El tema de la muerte en el Libro de buen amor,” in Estudios dedicados a James Homer Herriott (U. of Wisconsin, 1966), 127-44; I. Michael, “The Function of the Popular Tale in the Libro de buen amor,” in “Libro de buen amor” Studies, 177-218; A. Vàrvaro, “Nuovi studi sul Libro de buen amor. I: Problemi testuali,” RPh, 22 (1968), 133-57; R. S. Willis, “Two Trotaconventos,” RPh, 18 (1964), 353-62; A. N. Zahareas, The Art of Juan Ruiz, Archpriest of Hita (Madrid, 1965).

   In addition to the recent editions of G. Chiarini (Milan-Naples, 1964), M. Criado de Val and E. W. Naylor (Madrid, 1965), and J. Corominas (Madrid, 1967), recourse was had to the re-issue of the E. K. Kane translation (U. of North Carolina Press, 1968), with introductory study by J. E. Keller, and the prose translation by R. Mignani and M. A. Di Cesare (State U. of New York Press, 1970). Quotations are from the Corominas edition, omitting the diacritics.

2. The looser that one conceives the form to be, the easier it becomes to dispose of certain troublesome problems. The question of the imprisonment, for example, could be handled by an assumption that the poet had indeed been imprisoned at some point in his life, had written some stanzas there, and for the compilation drew on the delicate balance between remembered reality and present symbolism with heightened effect. This approach, if carried ad absurdum, could resolve all contradictions by saying that the poet had changed his mind over the years or simply forgotten, or by concluding that he was after all merely playing with his readers and hadn't meant any of it.

3. The suggestion of increasing tension seems to have been made only by R. M. Walker (1966), who interprets this mainly (1970) as “progressive intensification of the Archpriest's sense of death and desire to atone for his sin” (p. 252 n.). The general notion of a bipartite form is of course no novelty.

4. “Porque Santa María, segund que dicho he, / es comienço e fin del bien, tal es mi fe” (1626ab); “Porque de todo bien as comienço e raíz / Santa María Virgen” (19ab).

5. “los mortales pecados, ya los avedes oídos” (1583a). Corominas denies the connection: “… no creo que haya ahí una especie de remisión a su exposición de los Pecados Mortales en 217-387” (p. 586). He explains the phrase “Ya los avedes oídos”: “… porque ha sido como si el poeta los nombrara al hablar de los enemigos que nos quieren fazer cativos” as in 1582c, which seems far-fetched; a better case to reject the connection with 217-387 would be based on the supposition that the poet's audience had heard repeatedly the listing of the sins and was presumably overly familiar with them. But whether or not Juan Ruiz's phrase does recall his earlier exposition, the reader nevertheless has them paraded again for his improvement, and the second exposure is appropriate to the locale.

6. Ferrand García (113-20) and Hurón (1618-25). The name Hurón appears only in S, not in T; the entire episode with Ferrand García is found only in S.

7. Frequently in Part I: 14-18, 44-46, 64-69, etc.; in Epilogue: 1631-33.

8. A common formula, found several times in Part I (297d, 421d, 422cd, 574a, as noted by Corominas, p. 594), and in the separate Cántica de los clérigos de Talavera (1907a), but only once in Part II: Epilogue 1606a: “Quiero abreviarvos, señores, mi entención” leading into the passage on the dueñas chicas.

9. Cited by M. R. Lida de Malkiel: “The Book concludes with careful symmetry: The ‘Joys of Saint Mary’ at the beginning are echoed by new devout songs to the Virgin, among others, the gem of Juan Ruiz's religious lyric (1678-83)” (Two Masterpieces, p. 49). The earlier gozos are at 20-43; the concluding gozos are properly 1635-49, directly following the final stanza of the unified Libro.

10. If the relation between the quotations can be accepted, the order of the items (taking the earliest of a set) is as follows: interpretation, Mary as inspiration, gozos, male procurer, sins, brevity; in the Epilogue (all within some 50-odd stanzas), sins, brevity, procurer, Mary, interpretation, gozos.

    Moving farther into the Libro from either end, one may add the topic of the valiant youth now arrived at the infirmity of old age: (el león) “quando él era mancebo todas las bestias corría: / … / Vínole grand vejedat, flaqueza e peoría” (312bd), and “El buen galgo lebrero, corredor e valiente, / avié, quando era joven, pie ligero, corriente, / … / Con el mucho lazerio fue muy aína viejo, / perdió luego los dientes e corrié poquillejo” (1357ab, 1358ab); also, the false advice of the devil and the fate of those who trust him, as in stanzas 528-43 (cited as warning against use of wine) and 1454-75; especially the lines “Creyó el su mal consejo” (539a) paired with “Quien al diablo cree, trával su garavato” (1475c).

    The eight pairs of concepts are, then, at st. 14 and 1631; 19 and 1626; 20 and 1635; 113 and 1618; 217 and 1583; 297 and 1606; 311 and 1357; and 530 and 1454. The ordering of the appearance of the elements in Part II is 7, 8, 5, 6, 4, 2, 1, 3.

11. By Prologue (1-180) is meant everything before the confrontation with Don Amor, following Corominas' division. Walker considers stanza 71 as the beginning of the work proper (BHS, 43, 1). Lecoy (Recherches sur le Libro de buen amor … [Paris, 1938], p. 24) suggests 77: “Et la narration débute.” Aguado (Glosario sobre Juan Ruiz … [Madrid, 1929], p. 211) ends the Preliminares with “Constelación y planeta bajo que los hombres nacen,” presumably beginning the next sections (“Denuestos al amor …”) somewhere between 155 and 181. Zahareas (op. cit., pp. 11-12) marks the beginning of the central core of the book with the introduction of the autobiographical poet at stanza 71.

12. The tale of Doña Endrina ends here: “entiende bien la estoria de la fija del endrino” (909a), with the next set of stanzas (910-44) appearing in the nature of a postlude to end Part I. The five stanzas (945-49) are still without satisfactory explanation, although Corominas makes a plausible case for identification of this vieja with Trotaconventos (p. 368); but cf. Catalán, p. 68 n.

13. An uninterrupted recitation of the extant text of the Libro through stanza 1634 would last some 8-9 hours, at a rate of about 12 alejandrinos per minute. The Prologue and Epilogue, as defined here, account for about one-fifth of their respective parts: Prologue/Part I, 180/944 or 19٪; Epilogue/Part II, 127/568 or 22٪.

14. Ian Michael, “The Function of the Popular Tale in the Libro de buen amor,” in “Libro de buen amor” Studies, pp. 177-218, gives a detailed analysis of 35 tales in the Libro. Among his suggestive conclusions: “In every case except the last the function of the tales is to illustrate a point of argument. It is clear that they perform the function of the illustrative analogue, not that of the allegorical parable. There is always one bridge between the tale and the outer narrative, in a few cases there are two or more, but it is rare for the events or situation in the tale to match exactly those in the outer narrative” (215). The last one he refers to is, of course, the Song of the Clerics of Talavera, which is not considered here to be a part of the Libro proper, a view not inconsistent with Michael's analysis.

15. See R. B. Tate, “Adventures in the Sierra,” in “Libro de buen amor” Studies, 219-29, for a recent interpretation of the serranas and a shrewd critique of earlier views.

16. Tate (p. 226) observes that the only clear reference to the adventures from elsewhere in the Libro “is in the subsequent short bridge passage prior to the two Passion songs, where Juan Ruiz alludes to his escape from the past ‘uproar’” (1043c). But these songs should not be considered part of the main narrative but rather a penitent epilogue to the serranas. Tate limits the adventures in the Sierra as stanzas 950-1042, but this should run through 1066, as e.g. in Corominas' edition.

    It should be noted further that 431cd anticipates the serranas, the poet ignoring Don Amor's advice at some cost: “si podieres, non quieras amar mujer villana, / ca de amor non sabe: es como bausana.”

17. See also in the battle allegory (1067-1314) additional expressions of time or date in vv. 1067c, 1097a, 1099a, 1163a, 1164a, 1165a, 1166a, 1167a, 1168b, 1169a, 1174a, 1181a, 1194b, 1196b, 1204a, 1205a, 1305a, 1313a.

18. See especially the articles already cited by R. M. Walker and R. Lapesa on death.

19. In addition to the tale of the “garçón que quería casar con tres mujeres” (189 ff.) and Pitas Payas (474 ff.), which have no parallel in Part II, the first part is dominated by sexual preoccupations almost totally absent in the second half of the Libro. Consider the tone established in Part I by such examples as: “por aver juntamiento con fembra plazentera” (71d); “por santo nin por santa que seya, non sé quién / non cobdicie compaña” (110cd); “puse el ojo en otra, non santa mas sandía: / yo cruiziava por ella, otro al avié valdía” (112cd); “él comió el pan más duz” (118d); “e porque es costumbre de mancebos usada / querer siempre tener alguna enamorada, / por aver solaz bueno del amor con amada / tomé amiga nueva, una dueña encerrada” (167); “forçar muchas mujeres casadas e esposas, / vírgenes e solteras, viudas e religiosas” (231cd); “porque forçó la dueña el su señor valiente” (237b); “assí que los romanos, fasta la criatura, / non podién aver fuego, por su desaventura, / si non lo encendían dentro en la natura / de la mujer mesquina” (263; this incident from the Virgil legend was graphically portrayed in the film “Satyricon” by Fellini); “Desque pecó con ella, sentióse escarnida” (267a); “duermes con tu amiga, afógate postema” (293b); “Feziste por la gula a Lot, noble burgés, / bever tanto que yogo con sus fijas” (296ab); the parody of the canonical hours in general, especially following O. H. Green's interpretation (HR, 26 [1958], 12-34), in stanzas 374-87; “Puna de aver mujer que veas en camisa, / que la talla del cuerpo te dirá a guisa” (435cd); “en la cama muy loca” (446a); “Fazle una vegada la vergüeña perder” (468a); “mujer mucho seguida olvida la cordura” (526d); “vido cómo s' juntava / el gallo con las fembras, en ello s' deleitava: / cobdició fer fornicio” (539cd); “Descendió de la ermita, forçó una mujer” (541a); “quando jugues con ella non seas tú parlero” (561b); “pues vencerse una dueña non es cosa tan maña” (621d); “por mijor tiene la dueña de ser un poco forçada” (631a); and finally what must be supposed in the lost climax of Doña Endrina (lacuna at 877). This is the sensual climate to be continued from Part I into the sequence of serranas, as a few phrases may show: “después faremos la lucha” (969g); “La vaqueriza traviessa / dize: ‘Luchemos un rato’” (971ab); “desque en la choza fuemos—non fallamos ninguno—/ díxome que jugássemos al jego ‘por mal de uno’” (981cd); “si ante non comiesse non podría bien luchar” (982c), etc. Part II contains no fable or episode, and very few phrases or passages, that could be considered comparable in tone or style. The following seem to exhaust the storehouse of the second part: “non provarás la lucha” (1164c); “Mio señor don Amor, si él a mí creyera, / el combit de las monjas aqueste, recibiera; / todo vicio del mundo, todo plazer oviera: / si a dormitorio entrara, nunca se arrepentiera” (1258); “Alegre va la dueña del coro al parlador, / alegre va el fraile de tercia al refitor: / quiere oír la dueña nuevas del entendor, / quiere el fraile goloso entrar en tajador” (1399); “que consentir non devo tan mal juego como éste” (1410d; D. Garoza to Trotaconventos); “pecar en tal manera non conviene a monja” (1443c); “amat al buen amigo, queret su buen amor” (1452b); “luego seré contigo, desque ponga un fraile / con una fraila suya que me diz: ¡traile, traile!” (1466ab); “e sí l' dé Dios amor e plazer de amiga” (1578b).

20. The attempts to discover the precise nature of the relationship between the poet and Doña Garoza typically resort to general interpretations of the entire episode, stemming from the critic's view of the Libro as a whole, and close reading of selected words or phrases in the concluding stanzas (1503-06). In any real sense the issue is insoluble, and the inconclusive observations by e.g. Zahareas (Art …, p. 25 n.) or Gariano (Mundo poético …, pp. 84-85) are perhaps the best way to handle the question. Certainly Corominas bases his conclusions (note to st. 1503, pp. 558, 560) on something more than the literal text.

    In my view, the text describes an idealized, Platonic love affair, in which the question of the degree of physical contact is irrelevant if not impertinent. The important fact in the present discussion is the chastity and sobriety of the language throughout the episode (“el recato de expresión,” as Gariano puts it), which is demonstrated further by the necessity to produce arguments of the subtlest sort to reveal the physical seduction of the nun.

21. Note Walker's stressing of the increasing preoccupation with sin (art. cit.), which is valid up to a point. He exaggerates certain factors, however; one can hardly speak of an “orgy of sex” in the triumph of Love (Studies, p. 247), since this whole episode is noteworthy for its restraint; see especially K. M. Laurence, “The Battle between Don Carnal and Doña Cuaresma in the Light of Medieval Tradition,” in “Libro de buen amor” Studies, p. 161: “In point of fact, as we shall see, his treatment of the subject can be shown to be relatively restrained in comparison with other versions of the battle.”

22. One need only recall the familiar stanzas 873-77, allowing for Trotaconventos' amplification of Don Melón's impatience: “‘¡Yuy!’, dize, ‘¿qué es aquello que faze aquel roído? / ¿Es omne o es el viento?’”; “‘catat, catat cómo assecha!: barrúntanos como perro; / allí raviarié agora, que non pued tirar el fierro: / mas quebrantarié las puertas, ménalas como cencerro’” (872d-73a; 874bcd), etc. Trotaconvento's remarks after the long lacuna are a clearer indicator of what had transpired (“Quando yo salí de casa, pues que veyedes las redes / ¿por qué fincávades sola, con él, entre estas paredes?”; 878ab) than any portion of the Doña Garoza text. The lover of the nun is no less impassioned (“¡Valme, Santa María!, mis manos aprieto: / ¡quién dio a blanca rosa ábito e velo prieto!”; 1500ab), but is moved to reflection by moral scruples foreign to Don Melón (“pero que sea errança contra Nuestro Señor / el pecado de monj' a omne doñeador”; 1501ab). The climactic scene is the most effective in the entire work in succinctness and expressiveness (stanza 1502, with the final verse: “enamoróm la monja e yo enamoréla”); but this precedes the act of love (if any), which in turn must be deduced from the somewhat pedestrian narrative that follows (st. 1503 ff.), understated, vague, nostalgic, and without the personal appearance of any of the three actors, the poet speaking almost as an outside observer.