The Scholarship behind the Eyes in La pícara Justina (1605)

Abstract

This article studies the fictionalisation of the eyes and their potential in La pícara Justina (The Spanish Jilt) (1605), a picaresque novel by the licentiate López de Úbeda. To this end, a collection of passages is discussed in the light of physiognomic and medical–humanistic sources close to the author’s context, which makes it clear that he was at least familiar with the technical literature as well as with the learned circles next to the court. The article also attempts to explain certain elusive passages concerning (or having suggested any connection to) the eyes, with an emphasis on the turn of phrase ‘ojos médicos’ and its assumed link to the Menippean ‘sight from afar’ and the phenomenon of the so-called ‘médicos chocarreros’.

1. Introduction

On 25 May 1878, the now-famous Gilbert and Sullivan staged the comic operetta H.M.S. Pinafore. A resounding success. At one point, an angry Sir Joseph Porter, First Lord of the Admiralty, is possessed by a fit of rage following a notorious betrayal in love. True to his impeccable manners, he refrains from any unbecoming outbursts and resorts to manifesting solely through the look in his eyes:

SIR JOSEPH: My pain and my distress,

I find it is not easy to express;

My amazement, my surprise,

You may learn from the expression of my eyes!

(H.M.S. Pinafore, Act II)

What a challenge for the actor to convey the amazement only through his gaze! That the eyes are the mirror of the soul and a display of character was not a new concept in 1878. The idea is rooted in ancient history (see, in this volume, the article of Gernert). Since then, the idea has had time to permeate both popular wisdom and technical literature, medical, physiognomical, and, for lack of a better word, magical. In the Italian Renaissance, even a man of law like Alessandro d’Alessandro regarded the idea to be known, certain, and well-founded. The following passage, taken from his Latin miscellany Dies geniales (1522), provides a good example of this:

In oculis quoque religio fuit, in quibus imago et natura hominis ac tacitus sermo mentis maxime exprimitur. Ut enim cauda leonibus, aures equis animorum indicia praestant, sic oculis hominum mentis imago apparet. Nam cordis nuncii sunt: ex his enim virtutes vitiaque agnoscimus, iratum vel propitium animum, laetum aut affectum perpendimus. […] Refert vero Aristoteles caprinos oculos et modice conniventes aut parvos morum praestare indicium optimorum; contra, oblongos pessimos notare; candidos et protentos [notare] impudentes; carnosos [notare] versipelles, mobiles, inconstantes.

(Alessandro 1522, pt. I, bk. II, ch. xix, p. 420f.)

[Translation: The eyes were also taken into account, as they perfectly reflect the image and nature of man and the stealthy flow of his mind. To study the character of a lion and a horse we consider their tails and ears respectively. Well, to know the thought of a man we must consider his eyes. They are, after all, the ambassadors of the heart, since they allow us to identify virtues and vices, angry or benevolent tempers, happy or afflicted moods. […] For his part, Aristotle points out that caprine and slightly closed or small eyes denote the best spirits, while elongated eyes denote the worst ones; very white and fixed eyes denote the impudent; fleshy eyes denote the changing, moving and inconstant spirits.]

The Spanish 17th century, which inherited a long tradition of scientific and academic development, did not remain oblivious to this idea. In this work, I will comment on five excerpts from La pícara Justina (1605; editions used: see note 1), by the ‘licenciado’ López de Úbeda, in all of which the eyes and the sight play a central or relevant role.1 The first passage appears in the fourth book, ‘la pícara novia’, ch. 4, ‘de las obligaciones de amor’. The other four extracts are taken from the second and longest book, ‘la pícara romera’: two from the second part, ch. 2, ‘del fullero burlado’, no. 1, ‘de la del penseque’, and ch. 3, ‘de las dos cartas graciosas’, single ‘número’; and two from the third part, ch. 1, ‘de la mirona gustosa’, no. 1, ‘de la mirona fisgante’.

2. Academic Theory behind the Eyes in La pícara Justina (1605)

My main interest in dealing with these passages is twofold: (1) to examine the author’s knowledge of medical and humanistic literature, as well as his familiarity with the intellectual and courtly life of his time, and (2) to explore the rogue’s profile as a ‘critical observer’.

As for the author’s book culture, it seems clear that we are still missing many learned references sparkled through the novel. These, I think, will considerably tone down the burlesque nature of the text. La pícara Justina is indeed a ‘libro de entretenimiento’ (or a ‘cuento entretenido’; see Torres 2019): Jones (1974) proved most of its extravagant hieroglyphs and emblems to be the author’s parodic invention, and Prieto García-Seco (2015, 2017, 2018) has pointed out the weight of López de Úbeda’s humorous neologisms. On the other hand, the novel still shows certain links to the learned lore of the time. Critics have been able to track back most of the many proverbs used in the novel, and it has been recently noted that some of the medical prescriptions and treatments described, however extravagant, suggest some knowledge of medical literature, such as Celsus, Laguna’s translation of Dioscorides, Sabuco, and possibly Villalobos (Torres 2019). Therefore, it cannot be ruled out that the humanistic references that critics have dismissed as fanciful, parodic, or outright slapstick or burlesque might be in fact testimony to a scholarship and an intellectual milieu in need of further research.2

As for the role of the rogue as a ‘critical observer’ of the urban milieu, this seems to be in connection with the boom of the arbitristas treatises and debates from both theological–juridical and medical learned circles. Most of the stories from La pícara Justina and other picaresque works might be seen as a fictional counterpart to those treatises. Thus, while the protomédico Cristóbal de Herrera tried to organize the challenging growth of the Spanish urban world in his Amparo de pobres, López the Úbeda, a learned physician himself, and most surely aware of the ongoing debates on the matter, chooses to make fun of the situation. The role of the ‘critical observer’ enjoyed a revival since the renewed reception of the satirical works of Lucian of Samosata by the second half of the 15th century (see Darnis et al. 2017). The Syrian author was well known to students at medical schools all over Europe, since his texts were vastly used to teach ancient Greek (Gernert 2017; Grigoriadu 2003). By the early 17th century, the plain imitation of Lucian’s style may have been seen as old style, and it is no wonder that learned writers have explored new ways of conveying the same critical spirit in the new context of the arbitrista debate.

2.1. Character Description, Physiognomy, and Diegetical Logic

2.1.1. On Physiognomy and Its Practical Problems

The description of Lozano, Justina’s husband, is particularly interesting for the study of López de Úbeda’s familiarity with medical and pseudoscientific literature. Gernert (2019) noted that the description of this character corresponds in elements and structure—not so in content—to typical physiognomic expositions of the period, such as Jerónimo Cortés’ Libro de phisionomia natural, y varios secretos de naturaleza (1598; edition used: Cortés 2014/2015) or his favourite source, Michael Scott’s Liber phisonomie (see Saguar García 2017). The fragment reads as follows:

Era mi marido lozano en el hecho y en el nombre … Era alto de cuerpo … Era algo calvo, señal de desamorado; ojos chicos y perspicaces, señal e ingenioso, alegre y sobrino de Venus; nariz afilada, que es de prudentes; boca chica con frente rayada, que es indicio de imaginativos; corto de cuello, que es señal de miserables; espalda ancha, de valiente; hollábase bien, más de punta que de talón, que es señal de celoso; no tenía un cornado, señal de pícaro y efecto de pobre. … jugaba el sol antes que naciese … [y] era muy amigo de pollas.

bk. 4, ‘la pícara novia’, ch. 4, ‘de las obligaciones del amor’, pp. 942–56, esp. 947f (Torres: pp. 843–59, esp. 848f; Rey: vol. II, pp. 717–28, esp. 721; Puyol: vol. II, pp. 280–290, esp. 283)

Regardless of how much we expand the corpus of physiognomic treatises, Gernert’s assertion holds true. Physiognomy had been very well received in learned circles in the 16th century and did not disappear in later centuries. It also left its mark on fictional literature. Still, the treatises suffer from two intrinsic problems: (1) the description of shapes, sizes, and colours may be very general and inaccurate, leaving much room for the reader’s imagination; (2) the translations and interpretations of these turns of phrase only accentuate this problem.3

If we return to the passage in question, a follower of the Aristotelian physiognomical school of Camillo Baldi (Baldi 2020) would see a robust and masculine man (ch. 38.49, 38.52, and apot. 87), lustful (ch. 25 + apot. 108.2), timid and fearful (ch. 42.6; apot. 50.4, 65.3, and doc. 1.2), tormented and jealous (apot. 80.5), deceitful (apot. 41 and 87), and short-tempered (ch. 33.2 and 48.2). On the other hand, a disciple of Cortés (trat. 1, ch. 2, 4, 6, 16, and 17) or d’Abano (Abano 1548) would see a man of good manners, though docile, deceitful indeed, but hard of wit and greedy. Additionally, whoever consulted pseudo-Aristotle’s Secretum secretorum (Aristotle [ps.] 1920) would deduce, recto sensu, a remarkable audacity, however a contrario magnanimity, obedience, and a quick wit.

In practical terms, the whole palette of characters proposed by pseudo-Aristotle’s Physiognomonica is covered: brave, fearful, witty, foolish, shameless, moderate, cheerful and good-natured, sad, inverted, disagreeable, wrathful, meek, cunning, timid, gambling, avaricious, bellicose, merciful, gluttonous, lustful, sleepy, and thoughtful. To an intellectual individual skilled in physiognomy, Lozano’s appearance might (or might not) have made sense. For today’s reader, with the tools at our disposal and the little habit of physiognomic judgements, the passage offers no guarantees. It seems reasonable to think that the sense communicated by the list—if there was such a thing—was the result of some kind of crystallisation of simple associations (cfr the phrase murderer’s thumbs, still in use). In fact, López de Úbeda seems reluctant to accept the physiognomic discipline, given the sardonic closing of the passage: ‘no tenía un cornado [: a penny], señal de pícaro y efeto de pobre’.

This is the only passage where physiognomy takes some prominence. The description of Justina’s first suitor, Maximino de Umenos (p. 909; Torres: 807), includes only one pair of sign and effect: ‘tenía la cabeza chica, que parecía porra de llaves, señal de poco seso’. Of course, there are many more descriptions, some of them grotesque, rich in nuances, and denigrating comparisons, but none of them insist on the physiognomic approach. Consider the following:

Justina: Justina fue mujer de raro ingenio, feliz memoria, amorosa y risueña, de buen cuerpo, talle y brío; ojos zarcos (i.e., bright blue), pelinegra, nariz aguileña y color moreno.

(p. 188; Torres: 116)

Sancha: una mujer que parecía que constaba de sólo carne momia, o que era carne sin hueso, como carne de membrillo […] Toda ella junta parecía rozo de roble. Era gorda y repolluda. […] nariz roma, que parecía al gigante negro. Labios como de brocal de pozo, gruesos y raídos, como con señal de sogas. Los ojos chicos de yema y grandes de clara […] en la sodomía (i.e., physionomy, parodic) del rostro no muy avisada, aunque para su cuento nada boba y menos descuidada […] parecía acémila de grande.

(pp. 758 and 782; Torres: 639 and 663)

Tocinero: muy gordo de cuerpo y chico de brazos, que parecía puramente cuero lleno. Unos ojos tristes y medio vueltos, que parecían de besugo cocido; una cara labrada de manchas, como labor de caldera; un pescuezo de toro; un cuello de escarola esparragada…

(p. 442; Torres: 317)

There is nothing to prevent these descriptions from undergoing a standard physiognomical analysis, but there seems to be no reason to do so. The literary effect of the comparisons seems to be López de Úbeda’s goal here. A patently grotesque example with no physiognomic function is found within the description of Sancha’s body temporarily deformed by a medical procedure as aggressive as it is absurd: ‘le hicimos [a Sancha] muchas mamonas (i.e., vacuum ampoule suctions) … las cuales encarnaron y tiraron de manera que la boca se reía renegando, los ojos parecían deciplinados (i.e., battered, like the back of a penitent disciplinarian’s back) y los oídos como de liebre’ (p. 782; Torres: 663).

2.1.2. A Diegetical Logic?

There is something more relevant than physiognomic accuracy, and that is the insistence with which López de Úbeda qualifies the expression of his characters’ eyes, often with pejorative intent, and which seem to maintain a certain internal coherence in the work. It seems clear that Úbeda, via Justina’s voice, positively connotes small, quick, dry eyes, ready for observation (so does d’Alessandro, quoting Aristotle; see above). Such are the eyes of Justina herself and those of her husband, Lozano. On the other hand, there is a negative connotation for the large, tired, and deviated eyes, such as the eyes of Sancha and the Tocinero. About the latter, the so-called ‘burrihombre’, Justina declares,

me asestaba dos ojos del tamaño y color de dos bodoques (i.e., big round canon shots), y a cada bodocada despedía un rebueldo’, and as soon as he thought a donkey might be annoying Justina, ‘volviose a mirar atentamente mi pollino, rogándole con el mirar de ojos que, por la amistad (i.e., de burro a burro), lo dejase.

(p. 443f; Torres: 318f)

Below, we will delve deeper into the context of the scientific–magical literature that the author may have known, and we will analyse in more detail some unique features of Justina’s sight and that of her antagonist, the fullero Martín Méndez Pavón. However, first, it will not be without benefit to dwell on the encomium of the sight that opens the third part of the second book. In fact, it provides us with clues for the understanding of the chapter and for the future analysis of sources that we have already pointed out as necessary (see n. 2).

2.2. Sight Encomium

In this section, we intend to provide new evidence to support the author’s participation in the courtly and intellectual life of his time. The passage we are commenting on is found in bk. 2, part 3, ch. 1, no. 1. Let it be said that we subscribe to the reading of Bataillon, ch. 5, who understands the episode as a ‘burlesque chronicle of Philip III’s journey’ to León to attend the inauguration of a canonry, and not as an ‘impressionistic sketch, sprinkled with gratuitous jokes’ (Bataillon 1969, p. 135ff).4

The third part of ‘la pícara romera’, that is, of the second book of La pícara Justina, opens with the chapter ‘De la mirona gustosa’, as Justina occupies herself with a careful contemplation of the monuments of León. If we pay attention to the marginal notes of the original edition, we will notice that the first two paragraphs of the first number (‘la mirona fisgante’) do not function as an introduction to the first chapter or to the first number of the chapter, but to the whole of the third part (‘Introducción de la 3ª parte’). It is therefore worthwhile to take a closer look at them.

The same note specifies the theme of these paragraphs: ‘vista, el más noble sentido. Dícense alabanzas de la vista: Aristóteles, Platón, Séneca, Eurípides, Teseo, griegos, poetas’. In a tradition that goes back to ancient Greece, it is commonplace to confer on sight the first place among the bodily senses. This tradition extends to both medical–anatomical science and physiognomy5, and finds a place in entertaining literature, as in the fourth part of the Silva de varia lección de Pedro Mexía (Mexía 1602), ch. XI, p. 541, ‘en el cual se muestra y prueba cómo el sentido de la vista es el mejor de los cinco sentidos corporales’.

Justina’s sight encomium reads as follows:

Dicen que la vista es el sentido más noble de los cinco corporales, y por esta causa los filósofos le dan muy honrosos epítetos. Y he oído que Aristóteles dijo ser la vista la más noble criada del alma y la más fiel amiga de las ciencias; y Platón la llamó espejo del entendimiento; Séneca, arcaduz de bienes; Cicerón, mina de tesoros; Eurípides, llamó los ojos los galanes del alma; Teseo, escuderos de la voluntad; Menandro, espejos de la memoria; los excelentes griegos, reyes de lo criado; los poetas los llaman aljófares, perlas, cristales, diamantes y estrellas. Estos diz que lo dicen; véanlo allá, que, si la cota saliere falsa, no seré yo la primera que creo en cotas que no son a prueba. Así que todos convienen en que no hay gozo sin vista, y que con ella todos los gustos son tributarios del alma.

bk. 2 ‘la pícara romera’, part 3, ch. 1 ‘de la mirona gustosa’, no. 1 ‘de la mirona fisgante’ (pp. 727–45, esp. 728f; Torres: pp. 607–25, esp. 608f; Rey: vol. II, pp. 523–39, esp. 524; Puyol: vol. II, pp. 135–47, esp. 136f)

Some of the classical sources cited have suggested to the various scholars’ specific classical apothegms.6 However, the identification of the passages is far from complete. Justina herself sows uncertainty as to the accuracy of the florilegium: ‘estos diz que lo dicen; véanlo allá, que si la cota (here, the list) saliere falsa, no seré yo la primera que creo en cotas que no son a prueba’. The reservation, ‘no seré yo la primera…’, is very suggestive, but critics have not yet been able to illustrate the twist. Be that as it may, Justina seems satisfied with the general agreement of the philosophers and applies it without much fuss to her account, not without first summarising it and drawing a brief conclusion: ‘así que todos convienen en que no hay gozo sin vista, y que con ella todos los gustos son tributarios del alma’.

Torres, perhaps spurred on by Justina’s reserve, criticises the passage as ‘erudición un tanto espúrea (sic)’, and explains it as a parody of the praise of the liberal arts, such as the praise of music in Segundo Guzmán (López de Úbeda 2010, n. 1059). Gernert (2015, pp. 5–6) echoes this view, but immediately points to a Spanish parallel, however, following the publication of La pícara Justina, namely, Cristóbal Suárez de Figueroa’s Pusílipo (Suárez de Figueroa 2005). On this occasion, Rosardo regrets that his eyes have enslaved him to love, and notes, with a hint of understanding, that ‘hubo quien se privó dellos [the eyes] por desembarazarse de sus estorbos’. Silverio, his interlocutor, disagrees and proceeds to utter a praise of the eyes. The passage reads,

Ignorante mucho quien tal hizo [: cegarse], y del todo indigno de poseer joyas de tan gran precio y estima [: los ojos]. Cuanto a lo primero, son los miembros más principales entre todos los sentidos, por quien más que por otros la naturaleza se llega más a la del alma y espíritu. Reyes en fin, del teatro y edificio del hombre. Atalayas, guías, y capitanes de todo el cuerpo. Por eso, ponderando en otra ocasión su magisterio raro, y superior excelencia, me acuerdo haberles aplicado los atributos que de varios Autores había recogido: Eurípides, galanes del alma; sus medianeros, sus intercesores. Teseo, escuderos de la voluntad. Menandro, espejos de la memoria. Los Griegos, reyes de lo criado; concluyendo, con que no hay gozo sin vista; y que con ella son todos los gustos tributarios del corazón.

(Suárez de Figueroa 2005, p. 183)

In comparison with the passage from La pícara Justina, Aristotle, Plato, Cicero, Seneca, and the poets (i.e., the modern Petrarchan poets) are missing. On the other hand, the quotation attributed to Euripides is enriched: ‘sus medianeros, sus intercesores’. Moreover, Justina’s conclusion is reproduced, somewhat adapted, making the tastes tributary to the heart, and not to the soul, as Justina did. Gernert’s note invites us to reconsider the origins of the passage: is it one of the many passages in which Justina errs in her humanities (see p. 239, Torres: 150), and Suárez de Figueroa perpetuated the error? Did both authors drink from a third source?

2.2.1. New Spanish Parallels

Suárez de Figueroa used the same list on two other occasions. Both are later than La pícara Justina, but they predate Pusílipo, and they include the quote of Seneca missing in the latter. Eight years before the publication of Pusílipo, Suárez included the list in the twentieth ‘variedad’ of his Varias noticias importantes a la humana comunicación (Suárez de Figueroa 1621). This text exhorts the cultivation and development of the sciences that the ancients bequeathed to modern nations and warns that neighbouring nations are already doing so. After some notes on the ocular humours, he notes, as usual, that ‘son los ojos, entre los sentidos, los que más ayudan al alma, por donde entran y salen muchos afectos. En ellos, como en teatro, dice Plinio, se descubre y conoce cuanto el ánimo encierra. Llamolos Séneca arcaduzes’, etc. As in La pícara Justina, the main character, a young Andalusian, soon after embarks on a journey to the court.

Six years earlier, Suárez included the list in discourse no. 92 of his Plaza universal de todas ciencias y artes (Suárez de Figueroa 1615), ‘De los formadores de espectáculos en general, y en especial de charlatanes y ciegos’. Here, the passage deals with the deceptions committed in the streets of Spain by unscrupulous blind men (see Cátedra 2002, p. 169), a ‘miserable género de hombres, que carecen del más principal sentido de los cinco, quando menos de los ojos, a quien Séneca llama arcaduzes’, etc. It is noteworthy that in this text, Suárez’s earliest parallel to Justina’s encomium, the tastes are tributary to the soul, and not to the heart. It is to be supposed that the innovative reading found in the later works came from Suárez’s pen.

Figueroa’s earliest parallel (1615) is published ten years later than the editio princeps of La pícara Justina (1605). Given that Suárez’s Plaza universal is largely a translation of Tommaso Garzoni’s La Piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo (Garzoni [1585] 1587), particularly of its third edition from 1587 (or equivalent; see Kimmel 1968, p. 6), one would expect the Italian text (discorso CIIII) to be the source to both Suárez and López de Úbeda. Unfortunately, Suárez breaks away from the Italian text as he begins to describe the urban reality of the Spain of his time. Kimmel (1968, p. 208f.) describes the new excerpt as ‘sehr charakteristisch für den spanischen Autor’. Garzoni, on the other hand, describes the Italian reality (false medicines, false cures for children). Although he refers to Johann Jakob Wecker’s De secretis, Poliziano’s Miscellanea, Pietro Crinito’s De honesta disciplina, and Ludovico Caelsio Rodigino’s Antiquarum lectionum for further information, none of them provide any parallel to our list.

2.2.2. Latin Parallels

As far as I have been able to ascertain, several Latin works share a passage equivalent to that of La pícara Justina. Unfortunately, all of them are newer than López de Úbeda’s work and cannot be considered to have served as a source. In any case, one of them allows us to set the first parallel as early as 1614, i.e., one year before Suárez’ first parallel. This is the Medicus-politicus by Rodrigo de Castro (alias David Namias; Lisbon, 1546—Hamburg, 1627), a Portuguese crypto-Jewish physician from a family of doctors, trained in Salamanca (Gadebusch Bondio and Förg 2020, p. 84). The Medicus-politicus (Castro 2020) is divided into four books. The last one, ‘quae inprimis ad medici ornatum facere videntur..’. [which physicians might find most useful], is devoted, among other subjects, to different kinds of pseudosciences, such as incantations, love filters, and health givers. The passage in question is embedded in ch. 2, ‘de philtris’, in an exposition strongly dependent on Martin Antonio DelRio’s Disquisitiones magicae (DelRío 1679):

Et Plato amoris furorem fascinatorium esse docuit, quia mutuo aspectu et intentione oculorum amor hauriatur augeaturque. Hinc, ut Plutarchus scribit, diffluit ac colliquescit amator, ubi pulchra intuetur, pulchrum enim ex adverso conspectu, quod ex ipsorum oculis exit (sive id lumen sit, sive influxus) amantes liquefacit et consumit cum voluptate dolori conjuncta. ([Et Plato… conjuncta] DelRío 1679, bk. 3, pt. 1, q. 4 ‘De maleficio hostili,’ sect. 1, pp. 391ab + 395a). Tantam hanc visus excellentiam Philosophi summis encomiis extulerunt. Aristoteles dicit, eum esse nobilissimam animae ancillam, et fidissimam scientiarum amicam. Plato speculum intellectus: Seneca bonorum omnium infundibulum, addere debuisset et malorum: Cicero mineram thesaurorum vocat: Euripides oculos esse scribit animae aulicos: Theseus anteambulones voluntatis: Menander specula memoriae: Poetae eos esse dicunt stellas corporis. Itaque visus amoris initii et incrementi occasio prima est: nam primo visae formae simulacrum visus offert imaginationi, quod phantasia volvit ac revolvit, tunc homo istud objectum dignius judicat, quod ametur, caeteris rebus, mox amor praesentia rei amatae fovetur ac gliscit, non quod semper objectum externis oculis videat (nam et absentes plus amore cruciantur) sed quod assiduè de illo cogitet, quod antea vidit, illudque plus, quàm par est, aestimet, et imaginando fomenta et faces praebeat ardori: si enim ab externa duntaxat visione penderet, cum plures eandem videant et vicissim videantur ab ea, non unus solus deperiret, contemnerent reliqui’.

([Itaque… reliqui] DelRío 1679, bk. 1, ch. 3, q. 4 ‘An solo… visu… morbi sanari… possint,’ p. 23ab, ‘visus… caeteri?’)

[Translation: Plato warned that the fire of love was an enchanting fire, for the love born from sight grows and strengthens with every glance. And as Plutarch says, it is the same thing that makes the lover melt at the sight of something beautiful, for the beauty uses the lover’s own gaze (be it light, be it influx) to melt him and consume him in pleasure and pain. The philosophers were able to admire this remarkable primacy of sight. Aristotle says that sight is the noblest servant of the soul and the most faithful friend of the sciences. Plato calls it the mirror of the intellect; Seneca, the cauldron of all that is good (though he should have added “and of all that is evil”); Cicero calls it a mine of treasures; Euripides says the eyes are courtiers of the soul; Theseus calls them ambassadors of the will; Menander, mirrors of the memory; and the poets, stars of the body. In short, sight is the first cause of the beginning and growth of love: first, sight provides the imagination with an image of the form contemplated; the phantasia, in turn, goes on revisiting this image again and again; then, the man will eventually judge this object more worthy of love than other objects, and finally, the presence of the thing loved will kindle and excite love, and not because it always lies within external sight (in fact, the absent lover usually suffers more), but because the lover is always thinking of what he saw, and because he admires it beyond all reason, and because by such thoughts he does nothing but feed the fire. In fact, if everything depended only on the external vision, the evil would not affect only one individual and leave the others indifferent, for there would be many who would see and be seen by that same beautiful thing.]

It is obvious that de Castro’s text includes all the authors cited by López de Úbeda: Aristotle, Plato, Seneca, Cicero, Euripides, Theseus (!), Menander, and ‘the poets’. On the other hand, he does not include the more general quotation of ‘los griegos’, known to Suárez de Figueroa. At the same time, he adds a hitherto unknown expression in the quotation attributed to Seneca: ‘addere debuisset et malorum’, and presents a shorter quotation for the poets: ‘eos esse dicunt stellas corporis’. Otherwise, the textual equivalence is very high: note that both López de Úbeda and Castro use verbs of speech in the quotations from Aristotle, Euripides, and the poets, while Suárez does not. All in all, this parallel is more complete and more accurate than those of Suárez de Figueroa.

It is clear that Rodrigo de Castro referred to the Disquisitiones magicae. However, a review of its three indexes and an automatic search through the digital copy of the Cologne edition (1679) allow us to state that DelRío’s work does not include the list. Fortunately, in a constant exercise of intellectual sincerity, DelRío provides brief bibliographies at the beginning of each conclusion. Concerning the healing properties of sight (which he rejects), he refers to the following authors and works: Leonardo Vairo, De fascino libri tres (Vairo 1589), bk. 2, ch. 9; Giovanni Lorenzo d’Anania, De natura daemonum (Anania 1582), bk. 4; Giovanni Battista Codroncho, De morbis veneficis (Codroncho 1595), bk. 2, ch. 2; Johann Bökel, De philtris, utrum animi hominum his commoveantur nec ne (Bökel 1599), ch. 1; André DuLaurens, Historia anatomica (DuLaurens 1605), bk. 10, quaest. 2. I have found nothing of interest in them.7

It is evident that de Castro, in addition to the Disquisitiones magicae, silently excerpted throughout the entire argumentative exposition, consulted and made use of Johann Bökel’s De philtris and Leone Ebreo’s Dialogi d’amore (1535), certainly from the Latin translation by Giovanni Carlo Saraceno (Ebreo 1564).8 It would not be surprising if he had used a third source for his list. However, it seems rather improbable that he drew from La pícara Justina. I have consulted dictionaries, miscellanies, compendia of adages, apothegms, and concetti of di scrittura, with no success.9

2.2.3. Later Uses

The latest parallel is also Latin and takes us forward to 1708. It is the Valetudinarium senum Salomonaeum medico-sacrum ad Ecclesiastae ch. XII by the physician Christian Warlitz (Halle, 1648—Wittenberg, 1717). Although the citation is not explicitly acknowledged, the list of authors opens the volume citing de Castro’s works (‘Roder. Castrensis’). The list appears in the fifteen-page long commentary on the second verse of Ecclesiastes 12, ‘priusquam obtenebrescat sol et lux et luna et stellae’ [While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, King James version], following an allegorical interpretation in which the stars, by their primacy in the macrocosm, represent the eyes of the microcosm, i.e., the human body. He writes, ‘recte igitur divinum membrum vocatur, cujus usu vita a morte distinguitur, … Plato oculos vocat speculum intellectus, Seneca bonorum omnium infundibulum, Menander speculum memoriae, Poëtae stellas corporis’ [He rightly calls it ‘divine organ’, since it enables us to distinguish life from death. Etc.] (Warlitz 1708, p. 46).

Whatever is the origin of the list, it seems to have been well received among physicians interested in love filters. Both López de Úbeda and Rodrigo de Castro were Portuguese, and we know of the latter that he studied in Salamanca. As for Cristóbal Suárez de Figueroa, on the other hand, we know that he became involved in the Spanish court from 1603 onwards. Therefore, La pícara Justina (1605) not only remains the earliest source of the list, but also seems consistent with the context in which the quotations became popular.

2.3. Three Problematic Passages

2.3.1. Fictionalizing the Eyes

From the above passage, it is reasonable to assume that López de Úbeda was aware of the contemporary interest in the eyes, their nature, and their ability to act and express. We have already noted the many challenges involved in attempting to convey the colour and shape of the eyes in writing, in addition to translating these concepts from ancient texts. Nevertheless, the eyes continued to be seen as ‘mirrors of the soul’.10

If we do not question López de Úbeda’s identity or his medical profession, this knowledge seems reasonable. When we review the works of various humanist doctors and theologians, it is apparent that the study of the eyes focuses on three aspects: (1) their natural qualities, such as shape, disposition, movement, functioning, and diseases that can afflict them;11 (2) the dominance of sight among the senses as a means of attaining knowledge, and its resulting preferential link with the brain, the soul, the understanding and the will, including desire;12 and (3) its power of action on third parties, especially harmful action.13 It is true that empirical physicians and the authors of prescription and practical manuals dispense with many theoretical considerations and concentrate their efforts on diseases. However, it is no less true that the ‘mal de ojo’ was sometimes considered to be just another disease, with a precise diagnosis and cure. See, for example, Pedro Julião’s (Pope John XXI) Tesoro de Pobres (Pedro Julião 1540), p. 136, ch. 57: ‘para sanar al hombre que enfermare en su casa por ojo o por hechizo, o por mal hecho alguno, y aun para las bestias’.

In López de Úbeda’s novel, questions of natural qualities stay on a secondary level. Instead, the remaining attributes of the eyes, namely, their connection with comprehension and desire, as well as their noxiousness, are acknowledged and represented. We shall very quickly illustrate the last two cases. In the fourth book, we read that Justina’s love for Lozano was born when he ‘me miró, y mirele, y levantose una miradera de todos los diablos’ (bk. 4, ch. 4); in quite a different tone, the lascivious members of the Bigornia ‘con los ojos comían mozas’ (p. 475, Torres: 350), and ‘me comían con los ojos y ninguno me tocaba con las manos’, (p. 483, Torres: 358), as the envy of Justina’s female companions is expressed as follows: ‘siendo sus ojos dientes, y su envidia vientre’ (p. 556; Torres: 430).

Far more obvious is the link between eyes and understanding. We have seen above that large, averted eyes represent less alert characters. In the same way, Justina’s wiry, dry eyes and Lozano’s small, sharp eyes are used to characterise the picaresque wit, which runs in Justina’s family:

Justina’s great-great-grandfather, a bagpiper and a procurer, ‘no le holgaba miembro: con la boca hacía el son al baile y al de el matrimonio con los ojos’ (p. 343f; Torres: 231)—Justina’s mother, innkeeper, ‘con media espolada de ojos, nos hacía andar a las quince [quickly]’ (p. 581; Torres: 454), for she communicated ‘con las dos niñas [: pupils] de sus ojos, los cuales traía siempre a puntería de bodocazos’

(p. 373; Torres: 258)

Even Perlícaro seems to share this particular sight:

‘[Perlícaro] miró a medio mogate [por encima, sin prestar atención], al uso pícaro’ (p. 267; Torres: 173)—‘mirando de lado y sobre hombro, como juez de comisión de criados alquilones, torcido el ojo izquierdo a fuer de ballestero, cabizbajándose a ratos más que oveja en siesta’

(p. 278; Torres: 178)

However, there are three passages where this connotation of the eyes poses problems of understanding.

2.3.2. First Problematic Turn of Phrase: ‘Ojos Médicos’

Unsurprisingly, Justina learned this ability from a young age: her father, an innkeeper, a model of ‘discreción … erudición y maestría’ (p. 371, Torres: 255), encourages his daughters to measure by eye if it is to the inn’s advantage, ‘que más valen … vuestros ojos más que mil raseros’ (p. 359, Torres: 243). In her later adventures, Justina’s eyes are a source of authority, as she has inherited from her mother the eloquence of the eyes; thus, before she drenches one of her pretenders, she had occasion to ‘hacer del ojo a un angelito de la vanguarda [giving him to understand his task] … que en mi casa todos entendían a medio guiñar’ (p. 928, Torres: 827f).

On another level, in the episode of the description of the monuments of Leon, her eyes display more clearly than ever some sort of ‘Menippean sight’, a mocking, however innocent-acting judgement, which points out the random and absurd behaviour of social types (rather than individuals), which go mostly unnoticed by the general public. Ní Mheallaigh (2014, p. 222) defines it as a ‘vantage-point of detachment from which to contemplate reality’. Justina expresses it as follows: ‘en resolución, quise ver libremente, sin costas, sin echar sisa en voluntad ajena ni pagar alcabala de la propia, y para esto era propio ver de lejos y guardarme de picos’ (p. 585, Torres: 458). A careful study of the exact meaning of every expression in the passage is still pending.

López de Úbeda, perhaps aware of the suspicions that this boldness might arouse in Justina—if not in himself—judges it necessary to take care of it and qualify the precision of the picaresque sight:

Aunque pícara, sepan que conozco lo bueno, y sé que aunque esta iglesia, mirada con ojos médicos, cuales son los míos, parece que está al revés, pero, para quien mira a las derechas, al derecho está, sino que siempre fue verdadero el refrán de aldea: cual el cangilón, tal el olor. Los ojos picaños, aunque sean trucheros, siempre tienen algo de borrachos en pensar que las combas del nivel propio son tuertos de lo que mide’.

bk. 2 ‘la pícara romera’, pt. 3, ch. 1 ‘de la mirona gustosa’, no. 1 ‘de la mirona fisgante’ pp. 727–45, esp. 734 (Torres: pp. 607–25, esp. 614; Rey: vol. II, pp. 523–39, esp. 529; Puyol: vol. II, pp. 135–47, esp. 139f)

The last phrase, crucial to the interpretation of the passage, has not caused disagreement among critics: the roguish, shameless eyes, however shrewd,14 tend to project their errors onto the observed object. In other words, Justina’s judgements should in no case be taken at face value.

On the other hand, the ‘ojos médicos’ appear problematic. The work itself presents ‘ojos de médico’ (mind the preposition de) as dirty eyes: ‘que son más sucias que ojos de médico y nidos de oropéndola’ (p. 382, Torres: 265; see, as suggested by the latter, the Floresta española by Melchor de Santa Cruz, 1592; edition used: 1997 (Santa Cruz 1997), p. 130, ‘más sucia eres que ojos de médico’). It could be understood that doctors had a reputation for dirty eyes because of the long nights of study and the hard days of house calls (Méndez Nieto 1989). Eugenio de Salazar, in his letter to Juan Hurtado de Mendoza from Toledo on 15 April 1560 (Salazar 1945), describes the unfortunate court suitors in these distressing terms: ‘holgaría vmd. de ver á las mañanas el escuadrón tan lucido que hacemos: … ojos que no los limpiaran todos los tafetanes que se tejen en Toledo y Granada; cabellos con más pelusa que se hace en los telares de lienzo de Portugal; barbas que no las dehetraran todos los peines de los cardadores de Segovia y los Cameros’ (p. 298ab). However, one further use of the turn of phrase ‘ojos de médico’ makes it clear that López de Úbeda uses it in the sense of eyes discomforted or disgusted by what they have to look at: ‘les puse ojo de médico con una tan mala visión [: here a poor old woman] forrada en soplillo y abalorio [: here Justina’s nice shawl, which she lends to the old woman]’. Chevalier (1976, p. 26f) pointed out this use in Rabelais’ Tiers livre and, especially, in Quevedo’s Sueños (Quevedo 2003b), who implies that the eyes of the doctors are dirty because of the urinals and toilets they have to examine in the pursuit of their tasks: ‘la vista asquerosa de puro pasear los ojos por orinales y servicios’ (I/1, p. 391).

As for Justina’s ‘ojos médicos’ (not ‘ojos de médico’), they are indeed connoted in a negative way; however, they do not seem to convey this same meaning. Mañero Lozano proposes a literal reading, relating to López de Úbeda’s profession, and insists then on the opposition of the ‘ojos médicos’ to the eyes that ‘miran a las derechas’, made clear by the text itself (López de Úbeda 2012, p. 734, n. 21). I agree. Moreover, bearing in mind the tradition of the learned ‘médicos chocarreros’ who swarmed through the court and the high spheres and found it amusing to record their vices, these medical eyes could well be understood as the Menippean eyes Justina is looking forward to making use of. As stated above, these learned physicians would enjoy a privileged view of courtly society and would be more than aware of the debates on the challenges of the convulsive Spanish urban milieu.15 Thus, the proverb at the end of the passage, ‘como el cangilón, tal es el olor’ (Dicc.Aut.: ‘as is the upbringing of an individual, so are their customs’, so to say ‘professional deformation’), would make full sense: López de Úbeda, a ‘médico chocarrero’ himself, could not help observing reality with ‘ojos médicos’. This eventual meaning of ‘ojos médicos’ will be discussed on another occasion. For now, suffice it to distinguish the neutral turn of phrase ‘ojos médicos’ from the negatively connoted turn of phrase ‘ojos de medico’.

2.3.3. The Eyes of the ‘Fullero’

However, if any character has a particular look, it is Marcos Méndez Pavón, ‘fullero, burlón de palabras y burlón de obras, nariz de alquitara, ojo de besugo cocido..’.. The eye of a boiled sea bream, meaning half turned upside down, is a quality shared with the Tocinero. Alessandro d’Alessandro, familiar with the physiognomy (see above), associates them with the lustful, and this trait coincides with what we know of both the Tocinero and Marcos Méndez, the ‘sobrino de Venus’.16

In any case, the most characteristic feature of the Fullero’s eyes is the terrible state of his eyelid, the result of his constant cheating in the game: ‘el párpado vuelto afuera, que parecía saya de mezcla regazada con forro de bocací colorado’ (p. 569; Torres: 441). Justina dares to guess: ‘se le había exprimido el alma por los ojos y de puro brujulear se había tornado brujo’ (p. 585, Torres: 457f).17 This quality earns him two recurring nicknames: the ‘ojunregazado’ (pp. 521 and 523) and the ‘rezmellado’ (p. 502). Despite this bad state, Justina understands from the outset that he is not lacking in wit: ‘miró en redondo con una sorna que entendí que me había de meter los ojos en el pulgarejo o comerme las tripas con los ojos’ (p. 565f, Torres: 439).18

The Second Problem: Ojimel

Another of Justina’s nicknames for the Fullero is ‘ojimel’.

Ojos que no ven no envejecen, si no son los del águila, que cuanto más pico veen, van más a Villavieja. También digo que de la regla dicha exceptúo los ojos de mi amigo el ojimel, el sobrino del hermano del cura, el que nos vendió el galgo, el cual, con la continuación del juego y falta de sueño, andaba tan chupado que pensé que se le había exprimido el alma por los ojos [y] de puro brujulear se había tornado brujo.

bk. 2 ‘la pícara romera’, pt. 2, ch. 2 ‘del fullero burlado’, no. 1 ‘de la del penseque’ (pp. 584–600, esp. 584f; Torres: pp. 457–73, esp. 457f; Rey: vol. II, pp. 393–407, esp. 393; Puyol: vol. II, pp. 34–44, esp. 34)

Critics have followed the annotation of Puyol y Alonso (López de Úbeda 1912, III, s.v. ‘ojimel’; see also López de Úbeda 2012, p. 584, and 2010, p. 526), i.e., ‘ojos tiernos y llorosos’. Unfortunately, Puyol does not point to any source, and I have not been able to find any documentary support for this interpretation.19 Two things are certain: first, this description would be in clear counterpart with Justina’s, the ‘ojienjuta’ (p. 192, Torres: 117; see also p. 395, Torres: 276), then consistent with the negative connotation of the paragraph.20 Second, the meaning ‘ojos tiernos y llorosos’ sounds natural to any modern reader.

On the other hand, this meaning is discrepant with Justina’s using the term ‘ojimel’ to refer to her trick against the Fullero: ‘¿sabéis cómo podéis llamar mi burla? Llamalda retozo de garduña, ojimel de daca y toma, agridulce de bobos, que estos nombres le vienen mejor’ (p. 649, Torres: 526). This very passage may have suggested to Brinkmann (1878, p. 273) the translation ‘der Sauer-Süße’ (i.e., the bittersweet) for the term ‘ojimel’ within the description of the Fullero. In any case, we should not forget that the contemporary reader of López de Úbeda would be familiar with ‘ojimel’ or ‘ojimiel’ as a sweet and sour pharmaceutical preparation based on vinegar and honey, well documented by sources of the time, such as the Castilian translation of Dioscorides prepared by Andrés Laguna (Laguna 1555), bk. 5, ch. 15, ‘oxymel’ (Gual Camarena n.d.), s.v. ‘ojimel’, and noted by Puyol y Alonso (see above). I have not found any source that notes oblique denotations for the term, so it seems reasonable to read it on both occasions with the same meaning. Which one, exactly?

The three expressions in the second passage, insofar as they refer to Justina’s trickery or mockery, might share a common meaning. ‘Retozo de garduña’: Covarrubias calls ‘retoçón’ the cheerful boy; he then adds the term ‘retoço’, with no definition, implying that it refers to the attitude or action of the cheerful boy. ‘Agridulce de bobos’: the turn of phrase also gives the idea of a prank without malice, which combines the sourness of the joke and the sweetness of the innocent profit. Thus, ‘ojimel de daca y toma’ seems to convey the same meaning: a bittersweet trick (of vinegar and honey) in an economic transaction. Thus, in the absence of documented oblique meanings, when Justina refers to the Fullero as ‘el ojimel’, I find it reasonable to understand her to mean, once again, ‘fullero, tramposo, embaucador’, without further reference to his eyes.

The Third Problem: The Eyes Born ‘Por Alguna Jeringa’

In the same letter, Justina refers expressly to the eyes of the Fullero:

¿Con filosofía me acotáis o azotáis? Yo no sé qué es filosofía, ni la he menester, porque para saber yo que vuestros ojos no salieron por el orden común de naturaleza, sino, cuando mucho, por alguna jeringa, ni vuestra fullería se dio por el arancel de los honrados, no he yo menester filosofía natural ni moral, ni enviar por sabios a Grecia.

bk. 2 ‘la pícara romera’, pt. 2, ch. 3, no. [single ‘número’], ‘de las dos cartas graciosas’ pp. 638–57, esp. 648 (Torres: pp. 511–34, esp. 524; Rey: v. II, pp. 441–57, esp. 449; Puyol: v. II, pp. 70–84, esp. 77)

The passage seems to label the Fullero’s eyes ‘unnatural’ and his trickery ‘dishonourable’ (perhaps as opposed to the ‘honourable trickery’ of rogues by nature). The Italian translation by Barezzo Barezzi (Barezzi 2015)—and the German translation by Weiss (Weiss 1626/1627), entirely dependent on the Italian text21—divides each reproach into two parts, perhaps for the sake of clarity of exposition. Its final reading proposes a literal interpretation: deformed eyes and dishonourable deceptions.

Io non so quello sia filosofia, né d’essa ne ho mestieri, perché per saper io che i vostri occhi non passarono per l’ordine commune di naturalezza, né le vostre barrerie si fecero conoscere nella tassa o tariffa delli onorati, essendo voi difforme nelli occhi e disonorato, professando le furbarie infinite che fate e perciò io no ho bisogno di cotesta vostra filosofia naturale, né morale, nemmeno di provedermi de’ savi della Grecia.

The French translation by Charles Sorel (Sorel 1636), ‘traducteur incongru’ (Torres 2007, p. 142), offers a very free translation and seems to understand it as referring directly to the intellect of Marcos Méndez:

vous m’arguëz sur la Philosophie, je vous réponds que je n’en sais pas connaître une note, aussi n’ai-je pas besoin d’y étudier, pour connaître que dans une tête humaine vous cachez la cervelle d’un âne, n’ayant pas su prévenir la surprise d’une fille qui ne fait que de commencer à jouer son personnage sur le théâtre du monde’.

(p. 346)

Mañero Lozano does not explain the term ‘jeringa’. Torres speaks of ‘ojos sucios o legañosos’, plus a possible scatological meaning (López de Úbeda 2010, n. 933). Torres adduces that Covarrubias identifies ‘jeringas’ with the ‘clístenes’ or ‘clísteres’ used for purges. He does not explain any further, but I suppose he reads ‘por efecto de alguna jeringa’, as opposed to the natural way of evacuating (here, the ‘orden común de naturaleza’). However, I think it is worth noting that, while it is true that subcutaneous injections were not tried until the middle of the century, Cangiamila (1745, p. 240) speaks of the controversies of the early 17th century concerning the use of syringes for the application of intrauterine baptism, which is anything but scatological. I therefore reject the scatological reading, but I concur with the interpretation of presenting an opposition between ‘por el orden común de naturaleza’ and ‘por alguna jeringa’.

Quevedo, in La fortuna con seso y la hora de todos (Quevedo 2003a), ch. 16, notes the poor quality of a chain made ‘of pieces of syringe’ (i.e., of metal, as critics point out, supported by Covarrubias) compared with other chains made of iron. This is the only oblique denotation I have found: bad quality, gimcrack.

Everything points to a sense akin to ‘useless, anti-natural’, although it is true that the turn of phrase ‘[salir] por alguna jeringa’ does not seem lexicalised. The phrase ‘ni vuestra fullería se dio por el arancel de los honrados’ suggests that Justina’s invective attacks Pavón’s ill-executed fullería, as opposed to her nicely executed trick. Both accusations could be conveying the same: Justina would not be accusing the Fullero of naivety, as Sorel’s translation suggests, but of being a ‘false rogue’, a rogue without pedigree, as opposed to an authentic rogue as Justina, heir to a family of naturally dry-eyed rogues.

3. Conclusions

It seems convincing that López de Úbeda, like many other contemporary authors, has fictionalised—however sparingly—scientific and popular concerns of his time in connection to the eyes and their potential. It is unclear whether he was well versed in physiognomics; however, he has sought to establish a firm association between the witty lineage of the rogues and the dry, small, quick eyes. On a more intellectual note, López de Úbeda discusses the literary use of the ‘sight from afar’—with no explicit mention of the Menippean sight—which he exploits, at least, within the comical yet malicious remarks of Justina’s description of the monuments of León. As he refers to this rhetorical device as ‘medical eyes’, López de Úbeda puts into words the underlying interplay among the Menippean ‘sight from afar’, the picaresque genre, and the so-called ‘médicos chocarreros’.