The drama El cerco de Numancia, written by Miguel de Cervantes between the years 1581 and 1587, is a tragedy that explores some of the fundamental ethical problems related to war and the tradition of jus ad bellum. These problems include the status of civil populations during war, the limits that need to be imposed on violence, the uses of technology, and the possibility of dialogue in order to achieve peace. As a former soldier who participated in some of the most significant battles of his time, Cervantes shows a marked interest in exploring these topics through his fictional writing. He chooses to depict what I would call a “limit situation” in Numancia, one that I would define as an unusual living condition in which human agency and freedom are lost. In such a context, it becomes extremely difficult for characters in a text to manage effectively material and spiritual resources in order to survive such experiences. My interest is to focus on the extreme repercussions such conditions have on both material life and human dignity. I will argue that the scenes of pathos in Numancia are designed to reflect upon the possibilities of deliverance from total annihilation and the complex relationships between human beings and the values and objects they cherish the most within a tightly knit community on the verge of total destruction.
In order to understand this limit situation, I will focus on the way in which unreasonable restrictions to action brought about by extreme uses of technology on the part of an invading army produce unforeseeable behaviours and intense displays of emotion on the part of the victims. In my analysis of the play, I will concentrate on three distinct features of materiality. In the initial section of the paper I will first explore the material uses of military resources by the general Scipio, and their relationship to cleverness, friction, and force in the drama. His strategy will be understood within the context of an unjust war that promotes the use of all available resources against the city. The end result of this war will be the unanticipated death of the entire population of Numancia. In a second section, I will explore the negative repercussions of Scipio’s military strategy on the way of life of a number of key characters in the play. I will focus on the complex relationships that the victims will establish with material objects, in particular with bread as their most significant possession at a time of extreme necessity. A third aspect of materiality that I will focus on deals with the relationship between friction in war and a persistent shift at the level of signification of both the sense of self and the meanings assigned to material possessions. My contention is that the relationships to material objects reveal deep explorations on the part of the author of how to behave when the spectre of a dishonourable death looms on the horizon of a community. In his drama, Cervantes deals with such questions as what to do when confronted with a limit situation, how to ethically approach death, and what to give or receive from others in the instance when the body is about to expire. It is in such scenes that most of the ethical content of the work is fully manifested, and the sorrow of death is brought to bear with the greatest intensity.
war turns into something quite different from
what it should be according to theory – turns into
something incoherent and incomplete.
Carl Von Clausewitz
The central ethical problems posed by Cervantes in Numancia are related specifically to the principles that govern conduct during war (jus in bello).1 That is why it is important to focus on the way in which the military decisions are made, the purpose behind them, and the repercussions of those decisions for the rest of the characters in the play. At the beginning of the drama, the general Scipio is confronted by his inability to conquer Numancia despite having at his disposal superior resources both in terms of arms and number of men. The persistent pressures wrought by the long war on him are evident. The resistance on the part of the numantinos has made the captain very irritable. He interprets his duties as a “difícil y pesada carga / … / tanto me aprieta, me fatiga y carga, / que ya sale de quicio mi cuidado” [difficult and heavy task which / …weighs me down / and wearies me till my attention almost / becomes unhinged] (1995, 1.vv.1–4; 1959, 101; emphasis added).2 There is no question that Scipio is not dealing very well with the pressures of command and is angry and resentful towards Numancia (an argument sustained by Zimic 1979, 123; Maglione 2000, 179 and 182; and Vivar 2004, 30). Immediately after trying to correct the behaviour of his troops, Scipio is depicted as making a serious tactical error when he does not accept a peace proposal presented to him by two emissaries of the city.3 Even though he follows one of the central precepts of war, which recommends listening to the enemy during a conflict (“Oír al enemigo es cosa cierta / que siempre aprovechó más que dañase” [To give an audience to one’s enemy / has always done more good than harm] (1995, 1.vv.221–2; 1959, 106), he ends up rejecting an opportunity that would bring about the end to the conflict in very favourable terms for the Romans (the envoy from Numancia states: “y a cualquiera partido nos ponemos” [we will accept any agreement], partido meaning here “convenio,” “concierto,” or mutual agreements for peace [1995, 1.v.256; 1959, 107]).4 In other words, he misses the kairós or opportune moment (“ocasión”), the favourable circumstances that define praxis, especially in the context of military and political actions.5 Scipio’s response to the emissaries is deceitful since he has already decided that his army will wage war without the need for the soldiers to go to battle and without any physical confrontation that will demonstrate “lo que la mía [diestra] hace” [I wish to see what mine [right hand] can do] (1995, 1.v.270; 1959, 107).6 Instead, the hands will be used only to construct the ditch that will surround the city (“Ejercítense agora vuestras manos / en romper y a cavar la dura tierra” [Now let us all exert our hands in breaking / And digging this hard earth] (1995, 1.vv.325–6; 1959, 108–9). He rejects the peace proposal by proposing a return to the traditional ways of engagement in battle, but in reality he has made plans that contradict such statements. That is why even though he says that he wants to see both armies in the field, in reality the armies will not confront each other in the drama.
The ultimate purpose of such a decision is to solve conflict by means of new, clever, and astute strategies that will expedite a resolution in Scipio’s favour. In order to satiate his desire for honour and glory, he decides to deploy new uses of technology that are perceived as unprecedented within the drama. He encircles the city by constructing a ditch designed to finish off the enemy by starving them: “Pienso de un hondo foso rodeallos / y por hambre insufrible he de acaballos” [I intend to dig a deep ditch / and with insufferable famine finish / them off] (1995, 1.vv.319–21; 1959, 108).7 The introduction of the “nueva traza” [new plan] (1995, 1.v.348; 1959, 109) is seen as an individual decision, as a new and more effective way of conquering Numancia, as a strategy that avoids the suffering of casualties on the Roman side, and as an event that will increase Scipio’s honour and fame.8 In fact, Scipio sacrifices the traditional, more honourable way to wage war associated with a chivalric ethos.9
Cervantes’ main interest is to provide a comment on the prevailing practices of warfare at the time he was writing the drama. In the temporal overlapping he is making between the distant past and the present he is reflecting upon the proper or improper ways of waging war, in particular as it relates to the tradition of ius in bello. The drama exemplifies an improper way of using material resources against a city, and the character responsible for such an idea is Scipio, the Roman commander. Scipio’s decision would have seemed callous to anyone who viewed the play in Cervantes’ time, not only because the peace offered by the numantinos is generous, but also because Scipio rejects an acceptable political solution that would have avoided an undesirable (and even unnecessary) return to armed conflict. Furthermore, the new strategy does transform a limited war into what could be called a war of annihilation or total war, one that does not follow the principle of discrimination (distinguishing the legitimate enemy from the civilian population) and consequently converts all inhabitants into targets, since hunger will affect the entire population, including women and children.10
The central ethical problem presented in the drama stems directly from Scipio’s clever use of his material resources. This effectively intensifies what Clausewitz called “friction” in war (1993, Book I, 138–40), a concept that I find very useful in order to understand the repercussions of increased tension in the drama. According to Clausewitz, friction is characterized by the correlation between action and the confrontation of a resistance (Numancia’s long and effective war of defence). It is a term that helps us understand what makes events in war so difficult to predict, since friction intensifies unpredictability and also works against theoretical formulations and plans for action. Clausewitz states that friction “is everywhere in contact with chance,” and is what distinguishes “real war from war on paper” (1993, 138–9). This friction is manifested on several levels in the drama, and it becomes a force that will generate unusual and unanticipated behaviour on the part of both the invading army (e.g., Scipio’s construction of the ditch) and the victims.11 It also increases the opportunities for chance to entangle any plans or strategies, leading to unpredictability. This in turn becomes the condition of possibility for an ethical error of major proportions, in the sense that the text will assign responsibility to Scipio for increasing friction and, consequently, for the devastating effects of his decisions. These effects will eventually appear in the strong feelings of despair that will be so important in the scenes of pathos. The term friction as defined by Clausewitz becomes a fundamental critical tool in order to understand the questionable use of material resources during war and its ethical repercussions in the drama.
We can profitably expand our analysis by taking into account the relationship between friction and what Simone Weil, in her famous essay on The Iliad, has defined as “force.” There is no question that the tools of war are designed to have the most intense impact on the physical and mental being of the enemy. For Weil, force is defined as an action that effectively turns a human being into a thing (2005, 3). It is a powerful instrument that transforms a living being into a corpse, something impossible to conceive abstractly but that becomes a reality in life (2005, 8). The use of force should be limited, but this fact remains unrecognizable whenever the intensity of conflict compels humans to use extreme measures. In Cervantes’ Numancia, Scipio decides to test the limits of warfare by implementing a strategy that will elicit another logical contradiction: a war that makes the use of arms obsolete.12 The allegorical figure of España disapproves of these uses of technology (e.g., the ditch, towers, machines) as a means of transforming war into something else: “rehuyendo venir más a las manos / con los pocos valientes numantinos” [Although the latter are so few, refuse / anything else than stratagem and ruse] (1995, 1.vv.395–6; 1959, 110). These “intentos,” “quimeras,” “diligencia extraña,” and “ardid nunca visto” refer to the new machines of war, denounced by the allegorical figure of the river Duero as going against nature:
Mas, sin temor de mi veloz carrera,
cual si fuera un arroyo, veo que intentan
de hacer lo que tú, España, nunca veas:
sobre mis aguas, torres y trincheas.
[But with no greater heed of my swelled tides / than had I been a rill (a thing you never, / Spain, have beheld!) they’ve spanned my mighty river / with dykes and floating towers] (1995, 1.vv.453–6; 1959, 111–12)
In the drama the uses of technology and the material possibilities afforded by machines are meant to be understood as significant changes in the manner in which war is waged. These changes are represented as an intensification of the use of force in a way that changes the nature of war altogether. España states:
Pero en sólo mirar que están privados
de ejercitar sus fuertes brazos duros,
la guerra pediré o la muerte a voces
con horrendos acentos y feroces.
[But by realizing that they are deprived / of wielding weapons with their strong arms / I will plead for war or death / with horrendous and ferocious screams] (1995, 1.vv.413–16)13
Spain clamours for traditional war because she strongly believes in the ethos of chivalry (dependent upon hand to hand combat).14 She would prefer for her people to fight using the original tools of war in order to demonstrate their valour and honour in the battlefield.
Scipio’s decision to experiment with a more utilitarian and expedient use of force is significant in this context. He himself mentions the fact that his decision is not generally accepted by all, some judging it a “loco desvarío” [mad delirium] to enclose the enemy in this way. This tactic may even jeopardize the reputation of the Romans: “era mengua del romano brio / no vencellos con modos más usados” [our Roman strength / lost honour by not conquering the foe / in the outmoded, antiquated way] (1995, 3.vv.1121–2; 1959, 128).15 But Scipio is content with the judgment of one group alone, the “pláticos soldados” [practical soldiers], a category that Cervantes is severely criticizing in the drama (see III, 1125–8). On this issue, Zimic is right when he identifies this reference to the “pláticos soldados” as a realization by Scipio himself of the problems with his own strategy (1979, 124). But even more significant is the reduction in the scope of ethical considerations, proposing a judgment of action restricted to a group of practical soldiers rather than a universal type of judgment with a wider human scope. Practicality is, without a doubt, the source of much of the anguish, despair, and, ultimately, suffering and death in the drama. I would argue that, for Cervantes, the category of the clever, practical soldier has no ethical dimensions whatsoever in the drama, with the exception of the Roman’s future status as narrators of the victims’ bravery, a role that assigns to the victors the task of preserving forever the memory of their victims.
Scipio’s inability to foresee the possible consequences of such a use of force undermines his status as an ethical figure. He prefers to be clever rather than prudent, if we follow the classical definition of prudence in Aristotle’s ethics (1985) as a way of acting that always depends on a notion of the good, one that is able to better anticipate the future and thus avoid excess and the introduction of uncertainty and chance into human action.16 By not recognizing the limits of the use of force, the Roman general has in fact extended both force and chance, with unfortunate consequences for the vanquished as well as the victorious side. Excessive force thus has a common bond with intense friction because in both instances a closer, more dangerous relationship to chance always works its effects upon human action. We can illustrate this relationship with a quote from Weil:
they [soldiers] exceed the measure of the force that is actually at their disposal. Inevitably they exceed it, since they are not aware that it is limited. And now we see them committed irretrievably to chance; suddenly things cease to obey them. Sometimes chance is kind to them, sometimes cruel. But in any case there they are, exposed, open to misfortune; gone is the armor of power that formerly protected their naked souls; nothing, no shield, stands between them and tears. (2005, 15)
By taking war to its extreme Scipio is inviting uncertainty, unpredictability, and chance into the conflict. If prudence requires the ability to foresee the future in a contingent world by remembering not only the experiences of the past but also imagining possible scenarios in the future, by making good use of all resources available with a good outcome in view, with the help of long deliberation and consultation with advisors and friends, then what we see represented in Numancia is a general who rushes into action without consultation or deliberation. The union of force and chance, so important for the outcome of the drama, stems directly from the way in which Scipio, exasperated by the long years it has taken him to conquer the city, has decided to wage war. The unlimited use of force results in an intensification of friction and, hence, the unanticipated actions that stem directly from an unreasonable treatment of the enemy. Pushed on their side to a limit position, the numantinos will certainly react in ways that supersede expectations, simply because one cannot expect that ordinary actions will take place under such extraordinary circumstances. It is in the scenes of pathos that Cervantes explores the consequences of war taken to these extremes.
Que fait-on à la dernière seconde quand
on perd la guerre? On casse la vaisselle,
on casse les glaces à coups de pierres,
on tue les chiens.17
Marguerite Duras
In Numancia we can distinguish between two firmly differentiated dramatic spaces that correspond, on the one hand, to the Roman army and, on the other, to the numantinos that are protected within the city walls. As I have stated before, Scipio’s military strategy of enclosing and starving the numantinos has one major ethical repercussion, which is that the war has been extended to the general population of the city. This means that Scipio does not discriminate between soldiers (legitimate targets in a war) and the civilian population (women, children, older people, all who are unable to bear arms).18 The war waged by the Romans entails not only an unprecedented use of force, the inappropriate deployment of technology, or even the introduction of more friction with the consequential increment in unpredictability, but in a more significant way it has become de facto total war. By total war I mean that the traditional limits of warfare have been overpowered by the deployment of extreme means in order to achieve the complete surrender of the enemy. Furthermore, this total war will evolve into a war of annihilation at the end of the play.
Cervantes takes great care in producing compelling and highly emotional scenes of pathos in his drama in order to convey precisely the lack of prospective vision and prudence in the Roman general. Under the circumstances that Scipio has created, the numantinos will suffer extreme hunger, will need to destroy their most cherished possessions, and will have to sacrifice their lives by committing mass suicide (including killing their own children).19 Under the pressure of impending defeat and dishonourable death, the overview of the self is fragmented and the natural world of things upset. Gender is reversed as males complain that they are made to appear more feminine because they are denied the use of arms.20 Women propose the idea of mass suicide as a preferable solution to their dilemma and even suggest killing their own children (see III, 1251–401). This plural and, possibly, dislocated sense of self results directly from intensified (and unresolved) friction, and this same friction engenders even more tension and desperation. As a result, all relationships between the numantinos start to manifest new and unforeseeable disturbances directed not only towards the Romans, but towards the very members of their own community.
One of the major irregularities suffered during the experience of this kind of war manifests itself in the relationship characters have to objects and material life. My epigraph from Marguerite Duras suggests how the value of all material possessions changes dramatically the moment one anticipates that defeat is near. Even the moral compass that guides human action suffers greatly under such situations. Here the excess of friction experienced by a population on the brink of defeat produces a strategy that tries to diminish the future profit of the conquerors (destroying property so that it will not fall into the enemy’s hands), but it is also part of a psychological effect that transforms the perceived value of things. In the third act (Jornada Tercera) Teógenes suggests that all numantinos should deposit their possessions in the central square, so that they may be burned (III, 1426–9). Later on a numantino will convey more directly the difficulty of destroying one’s most cherished possessions:
En la plaza mayor ya levantada
queda una ardiente y cudiciosa hoguera,
que, de nuestras riquezas menistrada,
sus llamas suben a la cuarta esfera.
Allí, con toda priesa acelerada
Y con mortal y tímida carrera
Acuden todos, como santa ofrenda
A sustentar las llamas con su hacienda.
[Up in the central square they’ve made a huge / blazing and hungry conflagration, which, / fed with our riches, soars to the fourth sphere. / There with sad, fearful haste runs every one, / as with a sacred offering, to feast / the roaring flames with his own goods and chattels, / sustaining them with households and estates.] (1995, 3.vv.1648–55; 1959, 140)
The sacrifice of all material possessions is a difficult proposition due to the population’s strong attachment to their property. The use of adjectives that qualify the haste and rush to burn everything (a mortal and timid race) is symptomatic of the pain caused by such a loss. The possessions are also compared to “sacred offerings,” acquiring an elevated, religious significance. There is a recurrent sense in the drama that the misfortunes of war have arrived at an inconvenient moment. The same happens to their soon-to-be lost possessions, since their “haciendas” are “mal gozadas / pues se guardaron para ser quemadas” [the badly enjoyed haciendas, since they were kept in order to be burned] (1995, 3.vv.1670–1; 1959, 140).21 The time of war is incongruous with that of the proper enjoyment of the “haciendas.” The experience of approaching death transforms the present into a time of lost enjoyment and forms part of the representation of the city’s defeat and the psychological impact on its inhabitants. The strong bond between objects and human beings is severed by the anticipation of death.
There are two instances in which this incongruent temporality, which exists parallel to the displacements of the self, is strongly associated with specific characters and their bonds to life. On the one hand, it is a constitutive element of Lira and Marandro’s amorous relationship and, on the other, it also has an effect on young Bariato’s relationship to death. For the specific purposes of this essay, I will concentrate on the first case and the relation it has with material life. I propose that the incongruity between the vital experience of life (or the particular temporal relationship to life) and the context generated by Scipio’s new strategy is summarized in two crucial verses in the play: “es dolor insufrible el de la muerte / si llega cuando más vive la vida” [Insufferable is the pain of death / If it comes on us when we’re most alive] (1995, 2.vv.587–8; 1959, 115). I would also argue that these verses anticipate the construction of the scenes of pathos that will be so important in the drama, since they are designed to illustrate to the spectators the extreme suffering generated by war. The communicability of suffering and pain will depend precisely upon the strong attachments to life of some of the characters. An intense bond to life will depend on affective relationships, the love one feels for the land and the city, intense relationships with friends, the always important sense of honour, attachments to one’s possessions, and also the temporal experience related to a particular stage in life (e.g., being too young to die). Undoubtedly, there is a strong cultural content linked to the representation of pain and suffering, and Cervantes demonstrates a sustained sensitivity to it.22 In the case of Lira and Marandro, their love and future marriage are represented as a stage in life that coincided with the worst possible moment. There are a number of allusions to the incongruity of their relationship and the context of war, starting with the reproach made by Marandro’s best friend Leoncio:
¿Ves la patria consumida
y de enemigos cercada,
y tu memoria, burlada
por amor, de ella se olvida?
[You see your country half consumed, and by / her enemies shut in, yet tricked and fooled / by Love, you must forget her altogether?] (1995, 2.vv.717–20; 1959, 118)
For Leoncio, the love relationship between Marandro and Lira is inappropriate under the lived circumstances. But Marandro strongly rebukes his best friend by using effective arguments that justify the coexistence of love and the duties required from a soldier during war. But despite his proposed solution, Marandro is aware of the unfortunate timing of the situation he lives in, and is unable to solve this problem:
en tan dulce coyuntura
esta fuerte guerra dura,
por quien mi gloria cesó.
Dilatóse el casamiento
hasta acabar esta guerra,
porque no está nuestra tierra
para fiestas y contento.
[You also know that, at this youthful juncture, / came this fierce strife by which my glorious hopes / were slain, and so the wedding was deferred / till after the cessation of the war / because our country’s now no place for feasts / and happiness.] (1995, 2.vv.749–56; 1959, 118)23
Both quotes do illustrate the unfortunate context in which Marandro finds himself, questioned by his friend and unable to enjoy Lira as wife and lover. It is obvious that Cervantes is establishing a connection between the lack of enjoyment of the possessions that need to be sacrificed to the fire in the central square and the impossibility of enjoying a relationship that will remain unfulfilled due to the Roman siege.
But Marandro will try desperately to fight against such a rigid and imposed context. During the most difficult moments represented in the drama (the strong suffering caused by hunger), Marandro will appropriate for himself some of the responsibilities of the husband that he will not be able to become in the future. In other words, Marandro’s actions (the ones that will lead him to his death) are dictated by a desire to fulfil responsibilities that will not only combine effectively his duties of soldier and lover, but also anticipate his future functions as husband and household provider. He will be able to add a new aspect to his own self not only as a reaction to the situation created by the Romans (friction), but also as one of those moments in which unexpected behaviours and chance come into play. It is a reaction to friction that will fight against a closed future by appropriating for himself the power to assume a future subjectivity in the present. This may seem complicated, but I believe that we can understand better Marandro’s actions if we see them as the desire to experience an impossible-to-attain future stage in life. Aristotle’s distinction between acquisition of wealth and household management in The Politics sheds light on Marandro’s suffering. Related to his discussion on the nature of slavery, in Book I Aristotle associates the acquisition of wealth (along with the acquisition of slaves) with hunting and war (1984, I, 1255b, 35 and 1256b, 20–5). Household management, on the other hand, is defined as a limited acquisition of necessities required for the living of an honourable life (1984, 1258a, 40).24 This is the art of acquisition associated with the household and the family that will determine Marandro’s actions after he finds out that Lira is dying of hunger as a consequence of the siege. Lira states:
Que me tiene tal la hambre,
que de mi vital estambre
llevará presto la palma.
¿Qué tálamo has de esperar
de quien está en tal extremo,
que te aseguro que temo
antes de un hora expirar?
[That with such hunger I contend / I am near vanquished in the fight / and feel my life is at its end. / What sort of nuptials can you dream / with one whom, in this fierce extreme, / such agonising pangs devour / that she must perish in an hour?] (1995, 3.vv.1479–85; 1959, 136)
In this quote Lira is still contemplating the possibility of a future marriage. However, extreme necessity is making such a future an impossibility. In his response Marandro decides to make a “most improbable” promise, one that Leoncio characterizes as a “Terrible ofrecimiento” [a terrible offer] (1995, 3.v.1574):
de hambre no morirás
mientras yo tuviere vida.
Yo me ofrezco de saltar
el foso y el muro fuerte,
y entrar por la misma muerte
para la tuya excusar.
El pan que el romano toca,
sin que el temor me destruya,
le quitaré de la suya
para ponello en tu boca.
[Though hunger-stricken, / you shall not die! Across the trench / out of the Romans’ hands I’ll wrench / the bread for want of which you sicken, / and put the bread between your lips.] (1995, 3.vv.1504–13; 1959, 137)
I would argue that the promise of sustenance made to his lover is best understood as a desire to fulfil obligations that surpass a mere gift between lovers, even if the bread that will be taken from the Romans and brought to Lira will be later understood within an economy of gift-giving. Since it has to do with hunger and the need for food, Marandro’s valiant promise and actions should be linked to the maintenance of the household and the provisions necessary for survival. Lira is aware of the unreasonable proposal made by Marandro and she responds that she is not willing to accept sustenance under such dire circumstances (“yo no quiero sustento / ganado con tu sudor” [I want nothing / that’s won at cost of sweat or blood by you] (1995, 3.vv.1540–1; 1959, 137). The promise of food is a performative utterance that should be understood in the context of a desire to accomplish some of the functions associated with family responsibility. But the situation is paradoxical and tragic because the promise is made by someone who is destined never to become a husband. In this desire to fight against his own tragic fate, Marandro adds another aspect of the self to the plurality that is already experienced (lover and soldier), one that has the main social function of alleviating the corporal necessities of life (in this case, hunger).
After the promise, bread becomes a fundamental material object that adds dramatic intensity to the scenes of pathos. Bread is repeatedly preferred by characters who appear on stage and suffer extreme hunger, and who are willing to give anything in return for it. In the case of Marandro, the pursuit of bread participates in the economy of gift-giving (as a “prenda”), but is more significantly related to a household economy because gifts are not necessarily given in order to provide for necessities such as food. This link to necessity is very strong whenever bread is mentioned by characters who are dying of hunger, especially the children. The son of a woman who brings possessions to the fire expresses it well: “le daré toda esta ropa / por un pedazo de pan” [I’ll trade / all of these clothes for it – just for one piece!] (1995, 3.vv.1706–7; 1959, 141). The mother is not capable of providing a piece of bread, nor is she able to breastfeed her child:
¿Qué mamas, triste criatura?
¿No sientes que, a mi despecho,
sacas ya del flaco pecho
por leche, la sangre pura?
Lleva la carne a pedazos
y procura de hartarte,
que no pueden ya llevarte
mis flacos, cansados brazos.
[Poor creature, what is that you’re sucking / out of my breast? Can you not taste? It’s blood, / not milk. Come, bite my breast in pieces / and eat them if it satisfies your hunger.] (1995, 3.vv.1708–15; 1959, 141)
Scenes like this make it impossible to restrict the symbolic functions of bread and nourishment solely to a gift-giving economy between lovers. In this instance the appearance of bread associated with blood and the body of the mother becomes part of a representation of the impossibility of sustaining the most basic function of parenthood. Eating has evolved into a cannibal act in which the mother offers her own flesh and blood as food, even if her body is no longer capable of fulfilling this function: “¿con qué os podré sustentar, / si apenas tengo qué os dar / de la propia sangre mía?” [What more can I provide you than my blood?] (1995, 3.vv.1717–19; 1959, 142). The scene is also designed as an extreme experience of the civilian population’s suffering and the devastating effects on the innocent victims of war. It represents a point of view available to the audience of the drama, but denied to Scipio in his inability to perceive the consequences of his decision.
As the fundamental object of nourishment within an economy of extreme necessity, bread suffers the same displacements of meaning experienced by characters. As part of a system of exchange, it acquires a greater value (the child is willing to exchange all his clothing for a little piece). Such transformations become even more significant when Marandro appears on stage with a basket of bread taken from the Romans, the first instance in which a soldier has effectively used weapons against the enemy. After losing Leoncio in battle, Marandro begins to assess the true price of bread, linked now to the loss of his best friend (“¿Que es posible que ya dan / tus carnes despedazadas / señales averiguadas / de lo que cuesta este pan?” [And is it possible / that your hacked limbs bear witness to the price – / and what a price!– this luckless bread has cost?] (1995, 4.vv.1804–7; 1959, 144). The bread was bought with the blood of two friends (“con sangre comprador / de dos sin ventura amigos” [at the cost of the unlucky blood / of two devoted friends] [1995, 4.vv.1826–7; 1959, 145]). These allusions to exchange value and price indicate that the drama does not fall prey to a representation of reduced dimensions, which would happen if the author treated bread solely as a lover’s gift. The mention of its price is significant as well. Bread is something that has been bought in order to assist in the impossible tasks that characters wish to accomplish: the possibility of feeding a son or a future wife. That is why the semantic field associated with bread becomes expansive, migrating from signifier to signifier in the same way that characters are affected by a multiple sense of self. Bread also assumes a strong sacrificial content similar to the possessions destined to be burned. It is stained with blood, represents the human body, and is linked to cannibal rituals. These are all designed to intensify the limit experience of war for the audience.25
In the end, Marandro dies fulfilling a promise. And yet again his expansive sense of self is emphasized by Lira’s words immediately after his death: “enamorado y valiente / y soldado desdichado” [a courageous lover, and an unfortunate soldier] (1995, 4.vv.1874–5). As a lover, a soldier, and a provider of food, Marandro fought hard against the friction imposed by the way in which Scipio decided to wage war. He is one of those characters that fulfils the impossible: he leaves the walls of the city and attacks the Roman encampment, killing many of them and taking away a basket of bread in order to feed Lira. That is why it should not surprise us that after Marandro’s death, Lira is able to call him, for the first and only time in the drama, “esposo” [husband]; “ya está muerto mi esposo,” and later calls him “esposo mío” (1995, 4.v.1869, 1877). I would like to suggest that this can only happen because of the intention on the part of Marandro to behave as a husband by bringing nourishment to his loved one. In fact, this action unites war with household maintenance, effectively unifying what in Aristotle remains distinct. His heroic battle against the Romans was in a sense part of the war, but also originated from a desire to acquire bread in order to feed a future wife. This “domestic” or household suffering is precisely what Scipio cannot sense, trapped in the desires of an economy of war and its mode of violent acquisition. The act perpetrated by Marandro and Leoncio is also part of the manifestations of unpredictability and chance in the drama, since at the beginning of the fourth act the Romans are absolutely surprised by what has happened. Even more significant, this action has begun the process of transforming the victorious Romans into spectators with the function of communicating the valour of the numantinos (Fabio states: “cuyo valor [Marandro’s and Leoncio’s] será razón se alabe” [whose valour should be praised] [1995, 4.v.1753]).
Like the expansive sense of self, bread has become another object that continuously changes meaning in the context of war and extreme necessity. It acquires a high value, its costs are enormous, the investment in its acquisition is extreme. But in the end, bread suffers a last transformation and assumes the properties of a pharmakon, something that problematizes its status as food. Stained with blood and the cost of human life, bread becomes a poison, a sort of impossible gift, an extreme burden unable to be incorporated or completely accepted in its intended material function:
que por mí se derramó!
¡No te tengo en cuenta, no,
de pan, sino de veneno!
No te llegaré a mi boca
por poderme sustentar,
si no es para besar
esta sangre que te toca.
[This bread / stained with the blood that he has shed for me / is now no longer bread but deadly venom. / My lips shall never touch it, but to kiss / the dear-loved blood that spatters it.] (1995, 4.vv.1880–7; 1959, 146)
The object has finally changed from food to poison and, after that, from poison to an extension of the lover’s body (the willingness to kiss the blood-stained bread, but not consume it). It has become a contaminated object caught up between the functions of nourishment and the lover’s gift, an intermediate locus between food to be ingested and a precious object to be cherished and preserved. In the drama, it works as a last gift of life during the experience of death, effectively unifying two extremes of material life into what I would call an impossible gift. This gift is impossible because it cannot fulfil the functions assigned by the giver, and in fact produces opposite psychological effects on the recipient who now experiences it as poison. It also imposes a tremendous amount of burden on the structure of reciprocity, since it is a gift that cannot be returned. Its value has become impossible to assess.
In one last scene, bread will also manifest a temporal discontinuity in which the needs of the body can no longer be nourished by its presence. This happens when a young boy, Lira’s brother, appears on stage and sees the bread:
¡Oh pan, y cuán tarde vienes
que no hay ya pasar bocado!
Tiene la hambre apretada
mi garganta en tal manera,
que, aunque este pan agua fuera,
no pudiera pasar nada.
(…)
veo que me sobra el pan
cuando me falta la vida.
[Oh bread, you’ve come too late / since not a crumb can pass! So tight has hunger / throttled my throat, that if this bread were water / no drop could pass […] There’s bread to spare, when life cannot be spared.] (1995, 4.vv.1894–904; 1959, 146)
In the case of Lira’s young brother, bread appears too late, right when the most intense scenes of pathos are taking place (mainly in the third and fourth “Jornadas”). The body has succumbed to the absolute closure of bare life, a life driven to a limit situation in which the human being has become an anticipation of a corpse, unable to feed or be fed. In this scene that unifies life and death, bread has lost any effective meaning and it becomes an object without any value (it has no place in the world, “sobra”). The scene reminds us of Simone Weil’s conception of force as the power to transform a human being into a corpse. Lira’s brother, to use Weil’s words, is “a compromise between a man and a corpse” (2005, 8).
As part of the equation that pairs the arrival of death at a moment when life is felt at its most intense (the verses I already quoted: “es dolor insufrible el de la muerte / si llega cuando más vive la vida”), the appearance of bread within this temporality intensifies the bonds of lovers, children, and younger persons to life. This strong bond to life is what explains Bariato’s hesitation to commit suicide. In the end, he recognizes his communitarian bond only after the whole city has perished. He is able to sacrifice himself at the same time that he rejects the multiple and enticing offers of the conquering commander. In fact, such offerings are also non-coordinated temporally, and Bariato knows that they have come too late: “¡Tarde, cruel, ofreces tu clemencia, / pues no hay con quien usarla” [You, cruel man, too late have come to offer / your clemency, when there is no one left / on whom to use it] (1995, 4.vv.2342–3; 1959, 157). Once again, these riches signify nothing under the circumstances. Similar to bread, they cannot be incorporated, accepted, given, but in another sense they are different because they participate solely within an economy of war and, as such, are impossible to define as gifts. One cannot make such offerings in front of a multitude of corpses. Bariato has become a sort of commodity for Scipio, one that will reward the general, but not the young prisoner who refuses to equal the offerings he is promised with his own value as an individual self. Bariato’s love and devotion to the city (the communal side of his own self) becomes strong, and he understands that death is the only path to a certain kind of victory, one that cannot be bought.
To conclude, the complex scenes of pathos represent the devastating effects of friction and force in the drama. The unreasonable circumstances that the inhabitants of the city have to endure generate scenes of rich complexity that explore the relationships characters have to objects, the strong bonds they feel to life, and the multiplicity of subject positions experienced in order to confront death with a certain degree of dignity. Specific characters and objects (such as the pieces of bread) acquire a diversity of signifying meanings, and this progressive change forms part of the desperate attempts to confront a limit situation. The drama reveals strong representations of suffering as a form of illustrating Scipio’s blindness. These terrible scenes confront the spectator of the play with extreme actions: mass suicide, the killing of women and children, cannibalism, and desperate attempts to resist imposed temporalities. They all form part of an effort to indict excessive uses of violence.
I propose that Cervantes’ Numancia is a deep exploration of the ways in which war affects human beings and their emotional relationships to life and material things. It is a strong critique of the categories of cleverness and astute military thinking whenever they are not limited or restricted. It is a call to maintain ethical limitations during conflict. The uses of excessive force generate a friction that leads to extreme forms of behaviour and consequently produces unanticipated, sometimes tragic results. However, we cannot conclude that Cervantes is a pacifist or that Numancia represents an indictment of war or empire. I believe that this is an untenable position, since the author is proposing models of subjectivity for the Spanish empire, and these paradigms are reflected in the way in which the numantinos resist the enemy and ultimately decide their own death. Furthermore, all characters operate within an ideology dominated by honour and fame, categories that function as strong incentives for violence and war. These categories are not deconstructed by the drama, since the numantinos died maintaining their honour and fame intact, later becoming the victors in a new empire. In other words, the desire for honour and glory is not indicted by Cervantes in the same way that Erasmus criticizes it in his Dulce bellum inexpertis (2001, see for example 353). But Numancia does represent the devastating effects of the lethal combination of hatred and cleverness in the context of armed conflict, and this combination is present in the character of Scipio. It is a form of blindness that effectively eradicates prudence and a limited understanding of force in order to privilege clever and more expedient ways of achieving what the commander really wants. The play also illustrates the need for empire to contemplate limitations to violent action and a more ethical way of treating the enemy. These are some of the most important contributions of this literary work to the ethical tradition of jus ad bellum.
1 The literature on the subject of just war theory is immense. For a very succinct and clear definition of what just war means, see Thomas Aquinas (1988, 64–5). I also recommend Michael Walzer’s classic book on the subject (2006). See as well Bainton (1960) and Cahill (1994), both from a Christian perspective. See as well Russell’s book on just war theory in the Middle Ages (1975). As an introduction to the subject of jus in bello, I highly recommend consulting Brian Orend’s “War” (2005; especially the section “Just War Theory”). See as well the collection entitled The Ethics of War: Classic and Contemporary Readings, with excellent bibliography (Reichberg, Syse and Begby 2006). Francisco de Vitoria (1991) is one of the fundamental sixteenth-century humanists who wrote extensively on the topic.
2 I quote from Hermenegildo’s edition of Numancia (Cervantes 1994). All quotes in the text will be followed by the corresponding jornada and verse numbers in parenthesis. I have also consulted Marrast’s edition (Cervantes 1995). Unless otherwise indicated, I use the English translation included in the volume The Classical Theatre, edited by Eric Bentley (Cervantes 1959). Vivar has correctly emphasized Scipio’s words, which for him already indicates his lack of moderation and anger (2004, 29).
3 The majority of scholars agree with this judgment (see Zimic 1979, 118 and 121; de Armas 1998, 74–6; Maestro 2004, 45). But there are scholars who would like to maintain the ethical integrity of Scipio and tend to pass over in silence the general’s angry and unreasonable response to the ambassadors. For example, Hermenegildo believes that Cervantes honours and respects the general (1976, 59), an interpretation defended by King (1979). More recently, Aurora Egido has argued that Scipio is a prudent general with an irreproachable reputation. For a list of critics who defend Scipio, see Zimic (1979, 109).
4 I have changed the translation in order to better convey the meaning in Spanish. Francisco de Vitoria states that “for the just war it is necessary to examine the justice and causes of war with great care, and also to listen to the arguments of the opponents, if they are prepared to negotiate genuinely and fairly” (1991, 307). Although this statement is made in reference to ius ad bellum (prior to war), it is relevant to the particular scene of the envoys in Numancia because it takes place just before Scipio employs his new strategic approach to war. Thus, this moment represents an opportunity to listen to the enemy and try to work out a non-hostile, political solution. Vitoria quotes a significant phrase from Terence: “In every endeavor the seemly course for the wise man is to try persuasion before turning to force” (1991, 307). It is obvious that Scipio’s decision not to accept the offer of peace is the fundamental cause of the disasters that follow.
5 For a full discussion of kairós, see Aubenque (1999, 112–22) and Kerkhoff (1997, in particular his discussion of the concept in Aristotelean terms, 10–21).
6 He will tell Quinto Fabio that “yo pienso hacer que el numantino / nunca a las manos con nosotros venga” [I think I can prevent that any / Numantines come to grips with us] (1995, 1.vv.313–14; 1959, 108).
7 I have modified the translation slightly.
8 The manuscript Sancho Rayón reads “mi nueva poco usada hazaña” (this is the version chosen by Marrast in his edition). This version places particular emphasis on the newness of the strategy, corroborated by later statements in the drama. For example, the figure of Spain will refer to this strategy as an “ardid nunca visto” [never seen before ruse] (1995, 1.v.408).
9 I am referring here to the transition towards modern warfare (the increase in military discipline, the professionalization of the soldiers, and a more practical view of war). For an excellent analysis of the conflicts between the chivalric ethos and the practical view of war exemplified by the soldados pláticos, see González de León’s excellent article (2003), later on expanded in his book 2009). See also Simerka (2003, 101–2), who argues correctly that in the siege there is an implied loss of epic heroism.
10 I borrow the concepts of war of annihilation and total war from Arendt (2005; see especially 159–60). She uses these phrases not only to refer to the kind of war introduced by totalitarian regimes in the twentieth century, but also in her discussion of the Trojan war in Homer’s Iliad.
11 I will discuss these forms of behaviour on the victims’ side in a subsequent section of the essay.
12 I am unable to agree with Avalle-Arce’s interpretation of Scipio’s decision as an expression of a “teoría humanitaria de la Guerra” [a humanitarian theory of war] (1975, 263). On the contrary, the drama does represent Scipio’s non-humanitarian posture, which should be considered his mistake. A true humanitarian theory of war would need to contemplate avoiding casualties and the loss of life on both sides of the conflict.
13 I have slightly altered the translation.
14 I would agree that Cervantes seems to defend this ethos against the new practices of warfare characteristic of the sixteenth century and cemented upon questionable moral ground. See Avalle-Arce (1975, 251 and note 4); see also Simerka (2003, 102), who mentions the anachronistic depiction of chivalric and heroic combat. There could be a critique of what has been called The School of Alba, in reference to Juan de Austria’s preferred means to wage war. The duke “avoided field battles and preferred … to wear out the enemy with dilatory maneuvers, harassing skirmishes, frequent ambushes and sneak attacks under cover of darkness” (González de León 2003, 241; and 2009, 71). I hesitate to make a stronger claim, however, since Cervantes will use the Duke of Alba as a paradigm of magnanimity during the invasion of Rome in 1556–7 (see 1995, 1.vv. 489–96; 1959, 112–13). For a more direct reference to a relationship between the drama and the context of imperial politics in Flanders, see Johnson (1980, 88–9). See also Simerka (2003) on imperial power and literary genre. I agree with de Armas’s statement that Cervantes “may be warning the rising Spanish Empire of its arrogancia” (1998, 89). King argues that the drama is a “meditation about the trajectory, legitimacy, power, burden, and mistakes of empire” (1979, 217). Hermenegildo postulates a link between the drama and the severe response of Juan de Austria to the rebellion of the Alpujarras (1976, 47). What is certain is that time and time again Cervantes includes characters in his works that defend honour and glory from the perspective of traditional warfare. Such is the case of the famous debate between arms and letters voiced by Don Quijote, or the way in which Ricaredo behaves as a commander in La española inglesa, to name just a few examples.
15 Similar arguments were made against the Duke of Alba. See González de León (2003, 241; 2009, Part One).
16 In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle (1985) defines prudence as “a true disposition accompanied by rational prescription, relating to action in the sphere of what is good and bad for human beings” (VI. 5 1140b 5). Later on in the Ethics, Aristotle will distinguish between prudence and cleverness (see VI. 12, 1144a 25). My point here is that Scipio does not demonstrate an ability to recognize what is good or bad in human action. This is his error. What he does demonstrate is an ability to be clever, but without a notion of the good (a notion that must include a consideration for the enemy). That is why I am unable to agree with Egido’s judgment of Scipio: “A Cipión nada se le puede reprochar, desde la perspectiva del buen estratega” [From the perspective of the good strategist, there is nothing to reproach in the figure of Scipio] (2003, 119). For a clear distinction between prudence and cleverness, see Aubenque (1999, 74, note 133).
17 “What do you do at the last moment when you are losing a war? You break the china, you throw stones and smash windows, you kill dogs” (in The War, English translation of La douleur).
18 For clear limitations to conduct during war, especially the guiding points on how to act against the enemy, see Vitoria (1991, 314–21).
19 See Simerka (2003), who states that “the emphasis upon the personal lives of the vanquished provides a ‘humanizing’ element that is central to the counter-hegemonic ideological dimension” of the play (111). Friedman also sees in the depiction of suffering a way of making visible “the human aspect of the historical event” (1977, 84).
20 Caravino tells his men: “estamos como damas encerrados” [Like women kept inside the house] (1995, 2.v. 570; 1959, 114). Another example is the Romans’ tendency to animalize their enemy.
21 This is another instance in which the translation is inaccurate.
22 For the relationship between culture and the experience of suffering and pain, see Dijkhuizen and Enenkel (2009).
23 Leoncio responds with assurances that he will enjoy his wife in the future, something that will not happen in the drama.
24 Usury is another mode of acquisition, but Aristotle censures it because it is an unnatural way of getting wealth (1984, 1258b, 5).
25 For the relationships between this and other scenes to cannibalism, see Greer’s article on the subject (2006).
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