María de
Zayas: The Said and the Unsaid [1]
Margaret
Rich Greer
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“Are you sick of Zayas
yet?” That’s the question one friend asked
me on hearing that my long-in-process book on her novella collection was
finally in print. That was easy to
answer, with a resounding “No”.
Another friend’s question was tougher. She asked, “Can you think of other ways to read Zayas?” – other
than my own, that is. That was harder
to answer, and my first reaction was, “What, you mean 450+ pages aren’t enough?” On the one hand, the reason the book grew
so fat was that I could see so many ways to explore her work that it
was hard to reach the point of leaving well enough alone. On the other hand, having combined my
study of Zayas with a self-educating immersion in feminist and psychoanalytic
theory, my own dedication to that path made it hard at that moment to imagine
other equally fruitful approaches to her novellas. That may be a natural pull-up-the-gangplank reaction after
completing any major endeavor.
However, basic to my own interpretation of Zayas is the conclusion
that in her work, what is left unsaid is as important as what is said, and that
the unsaid will always leave more for new critics to say. |
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The first working title for my
study was not María de Zayas Tells Baroque Tales of Love and the Cruelty
of Men, but rather “Desiring Readers:
The Novellas of María de Zayas y Sotomayor.” Although I later moved the key phrase “Desiring Readers” to
that of title of the introduction, it remained central in my approach to
understanding Zayas. In the first
place, it refers to Zayas’s desire for readers. She--like virtually all writers--designed her tales to lure
them [2]. However, as a woman writing in an
overwhelmingly masculine literary tradition, in an era in which literate
males outnumbered reading women by at least 5 to 1 and in a largely
misogynist, patriarchal culture that enjoined women to silence, her first
words in her prologue “Al que leyere” address the daring of her endeavor [3]. In this preface and in the frame narrative that
surrounds the collection and links the stories, Zayas demonstrates repeatedly
her concern for establishing and maintaining contact with a
"listening" or reading public, male as well as female. |
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More importantly, however, I chose
that title to invoke the role of desire in narration, in reading and in
interpretation. Desire and
narrativity are intimately linked, as narratives tell some story of
desire—sexual or other, and employ it as a dynamic of signification [4]. Within the plot, it is the desire for an object;
driving the plot, both for teller and hearer/reader, it is the desire for
meaning, the ordering force that narrative provides for temporal existence. |
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Zayas
offers her readers twenty stories of sexual desire, while reiterating from
beginning to end that the purpose of her narration is to warn them against
the power and the danger of that desire.
Through the device of the male and female characters in the
overarching narrative frame who narrate, listen to, and criticize those
stories, Zayas demonstrates how gender and one's position within and toward
the circuit of desire condition the construction of meaning, both by narrators
and interpreters of their tales. We
may believe ourselves to speak and read with conscious processes, but as
Zayas shows, the energy, and much of the shape and direction of that
speaking, reading, and interpreting emerge from the place of the unconscious. The first episode in Zayas's first story
is an exploration of the mysterious origins of sexual desire, as a lonely
young girl brings her lover to life and then to death in two violent dreams. It was my own first experience of reading
this story with students, and our attempts to understand the knowledge,
conscious and unconscious, with which Zayas animates her fictions that
launched me on an investigation of that other avenue of exploration of
desire, psychoanalytic theory. This
course led me from Freud's explanation of the unconscious and its symbolic
expression in dreams and creative daydreams, to Lacanian theory of the
crucial role of language in the formation of gendered, desiring subjects, and
thence to Kristeva and other feminist critiques of Freudian and Lacanian
theory, on the one hand, and on the other, back to Zayas's day and to
philosophical/theological and medical explanations of the psyche available to
her and to her readers. |
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The
structure of María de Zayas's stories presents the critic with two primary
problems: first, the loose, episodic nature of a number of her stories; and
second, the apparent discrepancy between her fiery advocacy of women’s rights
in the prologue "Al que leyere" and some sections of the frame
narrative and the relative conservatism of the plotting of male-female
relations in the enclosed tales.
Despite Zayas’s impassioned authorial championing of women’s
capacities, in the stories she tells through her female narrators she was not
able to break out of the loop between narrative possibility and lived
experience to envision any viable alternative for ‘good’ women beyond those
sanctioned in the paternal order: marriage, life in a convent (either as a
nun or secular resident), or a martyr’s death. Where she does narrate detours
from these routes, she does so consistently through the vision and voice of
male narrators, so that most cases of apparent agency for “good” women are
mediated by masculine fantasies or fears of feminine power. She does subtly alter the masculine
narrative paradigm, however. Zayas uses the motor of Oedipal desire to drive
narrative, but extends its route beyond the traditional happy ending of a
love story. In her collection the dream of love and the fulfillment of sexual
satisfaction is a fantasy that must be lived through in some form, but
marriage is more often a way-station then a final destination in the
narratives of women’s lives [5]. Love fades, or is
serialized, or brings death in its wake. |
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I connect
Zayas’s narration of the dilemma of woman’s position in the patriarchal
family to the fundamental ideological tension that pervades and animates her
stories--the impasse between gender and class identity for this aristocratic,
proto-feminist writer. As Frederic Jameson observes in discussing the role of
envy and loathing in animating the dialectic of group and class identity:
“whatever group or identity investment may be at work in envy, its libidinal
opposite always tends to transcend the dynamics of group relationship in the
direction of that of class proper” (36). While Zayas painted in lurid colors
the unjust treatment of women as a group, she defended with equal passion the
superiority of her aristocratic class and its value system [6]. With that defense, Zayas paradoxically
accepted the legitimacy of the very institutions that also prescribed the
repression of women whose injustice she protested. |
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In my
reading of Zayas’s works, I have concluded that the loose episodic structure
of her stories enables her to negotiate the irresolvable gender-class tension
that underlies and animates her narratives, by leaving unspoken the key term
in the unconscious logic that links all their elements. Paul Julian Smith (38) has
connected the disrupted syntax of both Santa Teresa and Zayas with a feminine
language such as that described by Irigaray that makes its gender felt within
the masculine mold of language through gaps and ruptures, negation and
strategic silence. I believe that
this disjunctive signifying process extends beyond the level of the sentence
to the articulation of the narrative as a whole, and is what requires a
metonymic reading; i.e., one that locates the central object not in a locus
that is textually labeled as such, but rather represented by laterally
related allusion. |
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While
Roman Jakobson (90-96) connects metonymy with the realistic novel, it seems
to me that its function therein is different from that which is operative in
Zayas' work; that in the realistic novel, it is deliberately productive of
meaning, encouraging the reader to complete imaginatively a “possible world”
of the novel from the partial, or synedochic descriptions actually
present. The metonymical articulation
of Zayas's stories, in contrast, would seem to function as much to repress as
to produce meaning, to say without saying what cannot be directly confronted
in the female psyche under patriarchy or contained in the rational mold of
the Oedipal master-plot. To summarize briefly one example of this
practice, the first male-narrated story, El castigo de la miseria,
is a radical revision of Cervantes’s paired stories El casamiento engañoso,
and El coloquio de los perros, in which Cervantes’ talking dogs are
replaced by a tortured cat who drives the miserly protagonist don Marcos to
his death [7]. There is no overt link between don
Marcos, Zayas’s avaricious bridegroom, doña Isidora, the deceiving bride, and
the particular cat tormented in this story. This is characteristic of the
structure of most Zayas stories, whose meaningful elements accumulate
paratactically in a manner akin to the rambling construction of her long,
looping sentences. After doña
Isidora, her “nephew” Agustín and her maid-servant Inés have fled with don
Marcos’s treasure, he happens to meet her other maid-servant, Marcela, in the
street. Marcela poses as a fellow victim of her mistress and convinces him to
pay for a magic seance, staged by her lover, in which a devil is to appear to
tell don Marco where Isidora and her beau have gone with his money. The devil
whose appearance climaxes the seance is in fact a cat, trained through
torture, that bursts into the room with its fur aflame and exploding
firecrackers tied to its tail and claws Marcos' face so severely before
escaping through a window to expire in the street outside that don Marcos is
left in a nearly fatal swoon. He recovers
to receive a letter from "Doña Isidora de la Venganza" saying that
she has only given just desserts to "don Marcos Miseria" and
offering to repeat the lesson if he saves another 6,000 ducats. From the combined shock of the exploding
cat and the devastating letter, he sickens and dies--or in the first edition
of 1637, he commits suicide with a rope furnished to him by the marriage
broker who arranged the fatal match.
In an epilogue to the story, the male narrator tells us that the
tables were later turned against doña Isidora. As they waited in |
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Whereas
Cervantes’s philosophizing dogs work a "talking cure" on Campuzano,
Zayas makes a tortured cat a key agent in don Marcos' fatal
disillusionment. In part, we might
attribute this alteration to the increasingly pessimistic climate of
seventeenth-century |
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I suggest
that if we read this and other Zayas stories metonymically, looking for the relation
of contiguity between the more-or-less discontinuous elements, we find a
meaning that is as much repressed as revealed by their articulation. By such
a metonymic reading, we can find in the articulation of El castigo de la
miseria Zayas's intuition of the unconscious logic behind masculine
anxiety fantasies regarding the opposite sex. The logic is that imputed to her male narrator who would punish
"pussy" to evoke and exorcise from it the devil that makes a fool
of man, while also punishing the foolish man whose libidinal investment was
in accumulating and hoarding gold “marcos” rather than in a productive desire
for the opposite sex. |
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To
articulate meaning through the sort of metonymic reading I suggest requires
that the reader acknowledge that s/he, in positing the points of contiguity
supposedly hidden in the ellipses of narrative, is as much writing as reading
meaning. To read thus becomes a
dialectic between what Kristeva calls two sujets en procès, subjects
in process or on trial, author and reader, in which meaning is never fully
and finally inscribed, but always emerging in the intersections of their
dialogue. Zayas’s inscribed listeners
model the process as they react divergently to the stories they “hear,” and
Zayas herself, in her closing paragraph to Fabio, invites him to visit the
frame-tale protagonist Lisis in her convent to continue the conversation. As
long as we critics keep that dialogue active, there will always be more to
say about Zayas, as we each bring own concerns to the interchange, filling
differently the ellipses of the unsaid, resolving differently her
contradictions and paradoxes. Even
other practitioners of psychoanalytic criticism are not likely to coincide
completely in their analysis; compare, for example, my analysis of Zayas’s
fourth desengaño, Tarde llega el desengaño with that of Marcia Welles
and Helen B. Levine, which highlights similar elements of the tale but takes
a somewhat divergent path in interpreting them. Our analyzes were written concurrently but independently, and
the result is two readings that complement each other in interesting ways [10]. |
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Whether
or not the multiple students of Zayas employ psychoanalytic theory in reading
her tales, I would venture to say that we too invite critical identification
of our personal "hang-ups”/obsessions/symptoms as they are revealed in
the analytical angles through which we interpret her tales. As I observe this pattern in reading our
several interpretations, I am reminded that this is precisely the analytical
function that Kristeva attributes to the interaction of the symbolic and the
semiotic in the interactive process of reading. In this practice as in the analytic situation, says Kristeva,
the subject is realized within language, as the analysand assumes the power
of discourse initially attributed only to the analyst; but in the text, |
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The absence of a represented focal point of
transference prevents this process from becoming locked into an
identification that can do no more than adapt the subject to social and
family structures. To hamper transference,
the text's analysis must produce the certainty that the analyst's place is
empty, that "he" is dead, and that rejection can only attack
signifying structures. . . |
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The text . . . comes
to be the empty site of a process in which its readers become involved. The text turns out to be the analyst and
every reader the analyzed. But since
the structure and function of language take the place of the focus of
transference in the text, this opens the way for all linguistic,
symbolic, and social structures to be put in process/on trial (emphasis in
the original) (209-210). |
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Returning, then, to the question of what other productive
ways I can envision for reading Zayas there are several paths that I see
deserving more investigation. One is
further rhetorical analysis, of Zayas’s grammar as (il)logic and the
ideological assumptions it reveals. I
explored briefly in the last chapter of my book the telling effect of her
abundant pre-positioning of adjectives, and her use of the rhetoric of
exemplum, but I am sure that a combination of linguistic, psychoanalytic and
Marxist analysis such as that done so well by Malcolm Read would be
productive in studying Zayas. Similarly
promising is the study now in progress by Nieves Romero-Díaz of the
relationship between the work of Zayas and other noveleros, male and
female, the growth of cities and the emergence of an urban bourgeoisie in
early modern |
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The topic
of Zayas’s sources is probably inexhaustible, but heeding the clues she
leaves in her writing can provide us with a better sense of the reading habits of the small group of
literate women to which she belonged.
She says in her “Al que leyere” preface that voracious reading habits
such as her own can teach women literary skills despite their limited formal
education. In identifying the selection of
“foremothers” Zayas listed in that prologue—Argentaria, Temistoclea,
Diotima, Aspano [Aspasia], Eudocia, Cenobia y Cornelia-- I suggested that
Calderón’s drama La gran Cenobia might have inspired Zayas’s inclusion
of that queen of Palmyira. That may
indeed be partly the case, at least in reinforcing her fame; the influence of
El médico de su honra is clearly visible in Zayas’s desengaños
7 and 8, Mal presagio casar lejos and El traidor contra su sangre.. But I now believe that Lope de Vega’s
plays are a much more probable direct source for Zayas’s selection of
foremothers. Other than Ana Caro, Lope is the only living author singled out
by name for praise by a Zayas narrator.
Her debt to Lope de Vega's ironic contribution to the short-story
genre, the Novelas a Marcia Leonarda (1621/1624) is clear and has
already been explored; she rewrites his story Las fortunas de Diana as
her ninth novella, El juez de su causa, taking her title too from an
early Lope play. |
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The
lengthy list of learned women cited by the protagonist in Lope’s play La
donzella Teodor includes in one form or another all but one of those whom
Zayas cites, in some cases in very similar terms. The defense of women’s equality with men by Florela in La
prueba de los ingenios, which precedes La donzella Teodora in
Lope’s Novena parte, may also be relevant to Zayas’s arguments, although
the textual parallels are less direct. Zayas
says: |
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Veremos lo que hicieron las que por algún accidente trataron de
buenas letras, para que ya que no baste para disculpa de mi ignorancia, sirva
para exemplar de mis atrevimientos.
De Argentaria, esposa del poeta Lucano, refiere él mismo que le ayudó
en la corrección de los tres libros de La Farsalia, y le hizo muchos
versos que pasaron por suyos.
Temistoclea, hermana de Pitágoras, escribió un libro doctísimo de
varias sentencias. Diotima fué
venerada de Sócrates por eminente.
Aspano [Aspasia] hizo muchas leciones de opinión en las
academias. Eudoxa dexó escrito un
libro de consejos políticos. Cenobia,
un epítome de la Historia Oriental.
Y Cornelia mujer de Africano, unas epístolas familiares, con suma
elegancia. (Novelas 22). |
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The list Lope gives his learned Teodor includes the
following, along with many other names: |
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Sapho fue del verso autora, |
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que aora Saphico se llama, |
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Los versos de su marido |
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Lucano emendó Argentaria; |
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enseñó Filosofia |
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al gran Pericles Aspasia. |
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Damofila escriuió versos |
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dulces, a honor de Diana; |
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epístolas sentenciosas |
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Cornelia con Anastasia. |
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Astrologia leyó |
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en Alexandria Hipathia, |
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Femonia halló el verso heroico, |
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y el lírico halló Theana. |
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Escriuió contra Teophrastro |
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Leoncia materias raras, |
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y por deidad fue tenida |
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por sus ciencias Sosipatra. |
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Cenobia escriuió la historia |
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de Oriente; Delbora sacra |
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fue Profeta de Israel, |
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y en Troya la gran Casandra. |
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Fue diuina en Teología |
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en Roma la Inglesa Iuana, |
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y Socrates de Diotima |
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aprendió cosas tan altas. |
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Leyó Areta muerto Aristipo, |
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y al Filosofo Pitagoras, |
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declaró Dama, . . . (28) (emphasis added). |
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The “Dama” linked with Pythagoras is probably Lope’s rendition
of Themistoclea, or Aristoclea, the Delphic priestess said to have taught
Pythagoras. Thus, Lope’s list
includes all those whom Zayas names except Eudocia.. Since Lope’s listing
continues to an exaggerated length, we might also attribute to his influence
the fact that Zayas concludes her list of foremothers with a rhetorical
“etcetera” indicating that the list could be extended indefinitely: “Y otras infinitas de la antiguedad, y de
nuestros tiempos, que paso en silencio por no alargarme, y porque ya tendrás
noticias de todo, aunque seas lego, y no hayas estudiado” [11]. |
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If this
play did in fact influence Zayas’s selection, her omission of Sappho is
noteworthy, since it appears in Lope’s list just before Argentaria and
Aspasia, whom she does include. The
Greek poetess of |
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More
exploration should also be done of the Polyantheas and Summas of
Morals she suggests as sources in her “Al que leyere” preface. “Y que después que hay Polianteas en latín, y Sumas
morales en Romance, los seglares, y las mujeres pueden ser letrados” (Novelas
22). Polyantheas were a kind of encyclopedic compendium
of knowledge, of the sort parodied by Cervantes in the “Prólogo” to Don
Quixote. They existed in Spanish as well as in Latin, a good example
being the |
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Zayas’s “political”
biography, so to speak, also presents a challenge for present and future
Zayas scholars. Just why was this madrileña
present in |
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And
finally, a “whodunit” sort of question intrigues me: Who was (Zayas's) Fabio? Despite what has
been said repeatedly, the Fabio whom Zayas addresses in her concluding
paragraph does not appear mysteriously, like a narrative rabbit from the hat.
A Fabio has appeared before within her fictional world, in the opening
story of the collection, as the pilgrim climbing Montserrat who discovered
Jacinta, listened to her story and brought her back to society, where she
chose exactly the same secular life in the convent that Lisis has just
elected, consoled by visits from Celio.
Hence, Zayas’s address to Fabio and her invitation to satisfy his
desire to see Lisis with chaste visits to her convent binds together the
ending of this last tale, the frame plot, and that of the first narrative. We might even say that it makes the
entire collection one long multi-episodic exemplary story of the education of
Jacinta/Lisis told to Fabio from beginning to end. Ruth El Saffar too overlooked the first Fabio, but noting a
poetic exchange between Marfisa and Fabio sung between the last two novellas
of the first volume, she posed the possibility that her work might be seen as
a kind of riddle, an encoded message between another pair of lovers. Should we take this seriously? To do so
risks falling back into the overworked and apparently naïve reading of
Zayas’s stories as autobiographical.
Or should we see that invocation through Marina Brownlee’s post-modern
lens, as one more “marketing strategy” designed to titillate gossip-addicted
readers? If so, it is a strategy that
has hooked me, as it is the one “unsaid” that might one day lure me down just
more path in Zayas studies. Whether I
do in fact pursue it, however, I have no doubt that present and future
students of Zayas will continue to identify new fields to explore as they engage
in their own dialectic with both the said and the unsaid in her texts. |
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Discuss this article in Laberinto Forums
NOTES
1. I presented an initial version of this paper at a panel
on Zayas organized by Marina Brownlee and chaired by Elizabeth Rhodes. Other panelists were Lisa Vollendorf and
Sherry Velasco.
2. Marina Brownlee sees Zayas’s desire for readers as
absolutely central to the nature of her narratives. Brownlee lists as
“marketing strategies” her titillating appealing to a “mass” readership drawn
to ephemera, the tabloid “press” of her day and its sensational stories, her
use of magic, the frequent appearance of sadomasochistic violence, and the
paradoxical nature of her stories, whose unresolved tensions Brownlee sees as
another market strategy, one that allows her to resist monological gendered
typecasting and appeal to a diverse readership, while also defending herself
against censorship. She also
attributes to Zayas a conscious appeal to a human pleasure in gossip, which,
rather contradictorily, Brownlee considers both a cultural constant and
something particular to Early Modern Span, a period obsessed with surveillance.
3. According
to statistics offered by Sarah Nalle approximately 10 or 11 percent of the
female population of
4. For a more complete discussion, see Brooks, and also
Clayton, who analyzes the approaches to the role of desire in narration in
Brooks, Leo Bersani and Teresa de Lauretis.
5. See also the
excellent article by Lou Charnon-Deutsch.
6. Atienza Hernández in his article “Las mujeres nobles: Clase dominante, grupo
dominado. Familia
y orden social en el antiguo régimen” demonstrates
this phenomenon historically in his analysis of noblewomen’s position based on
females in the family of the Duke of Osuna.
7. For a full analysis, see chapters 6 and 9 of Greer,
2000.
8.
This is Foa's interpretation of the difference in the tales. She sees the general seventeenth-century
climate of political and social desengaño in
9. For details of this association, see Greer 2000,
Chapter 6.
10. While our analyses both depart from Freud, Levine
and Welles complement his work with that of Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel, whereas
I draw on Lacan and Kristeva. Among
many other insights, they point out the only partly expressed link in Zayas
between Moorish castration of Christian captives and male restriction of female
education and expression, which I also highlight in a more recent article
(Greer, 2001). My gratitude to Marcia for kindly sending me a copy of this
article in advance of the appearance of the Whitenack and Campbell collection
of essays in which it appears. Reading
it made me notice elements of Tarde llega el desengaño that I had
overlooked, and gave a new angle on other aspects of this fascinating tale.
11. The text
is in this case that of the first edition of
12. See Brown’s edition of the Fontanella Vejamen
and Greer 2000, chapters 1, 3 and 7.
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