For millennia history was considered a literary genre. The fact that the speeches of the protagonists of the chronicles were a mere expressive resource was so accepted among the Roman readership that when Tacitus, author of superb speeches such as that of Calgaco at the battle of Mons Graupius, reproduces a real one, he considers it convenient to point it out (Hist. III, 39, 2). The origin of our literature is found in the Iliad , a "historical" poem, in the sense that it narrates some events set in the author's past. Until recently there was no special concern to faithfully reflect the customs and material culture of the period evoked . In Renaissance paintings, Longinus appears as a lansquenet; in classical theater, Biblical characters were assigned Moorish costumes. It will not be until Romanticism when, by the hand of authors such as Walter Scott, the contemporary historical genre emerges. Since then, the relationship between fiction and historical reality has been complicated.
In the last two decades, the criticism that has emerged on the Internet towards the historical novel has focused on the search for anachronism or goof. In interviews, debates and conferences, the authors of this genre are not asked so much about literature as about history. Although the cinema and television series remained on the sidelines of such imperatives, this dynamic has been transferred to the screen. With each new release, a legion of experts emerges on social networks to break down historical errors, whether real or imagined. To the fact of judging a work of fiction only by the costumes and the setting is added, in Spanish productions, some sometimes histrionic reactions when these errors are perceived as an attack on a sacred icon , or with the defense of a rancid nationalism. The clickbait has made online newspapers act as a sounding board for this phenomenon, which has reached paroxysm with the recent Amazon Prime series El Cid. Perhaps it is a good time to reflect on the limits of "historical rigor" and to expose the conditions in which the assessment of an audiovisual work is carried out.
When speaking of Rodrigo Díaz el Cid (d. 1099) it is necessary to distinguish between the historical character, known thanks to more or less contemporary sources, such as the Historia Roderici or the poem Carmen Campidoctoris , of the fictional character of the epic song. This "demystification" does not in any way denigrate him, since the real Cid is shown as an infinitely more fascinating character than the literary one . The critics of the networks, without exception, point out the need to show an "authentic" Cid, but sometimes denounce a "lack of rigor" by not being faced with the common places of the Cid ballads, and even falling into the greatest CRIME of the HISTORY of TELEVISION. A controversy that has jumped to the press:not putting the famous Tizona in the hands of the Cid and, instead, making him hold Charlemagne's Joyous.
The Tizona and the Joyosa. Tale of two swords
From the outset it could be argued that the epic He assures that Tizón (name used until the 14th century) belonged to King Búcar of Morocco and that El Cid obtained it in Valencia, so it would make no sense for a young Rodrigo to possess it in his time as a squire. The truth is that there is no solid evidence that El Cid had a sword with that name . Tizón and Colada are the gifts that, in the epic poem, Rodrigo gives to the fictitious children of Carrión when they marry his daughters Elvira and Sol —who, in reality, were called María and Cristina— before the no less fictitious affront from the Corpes oak grove. The "proof" that the Cid had a sword called Tizón is a much later epic poem, which presents such weapons as symbolic elements of Rodrigo's alliance with imaginary characters within a fabled passage. The only contemporary description of Rodrigo Díaz's panoply is found in the Carmen Campidoctoris (v. 105-116):
We can say little more about the Champion's weapons. The sword popularly identified with the Tizona is only known from the fifteenth century, when it was given by the Catholic Monarchs to the Marquis of Falces, whose descendants kept it and ceded it to be exhibited in the Army Museum, until it was sold to the Castilla and leon meeting. It can hardly be considered an 11th century weapon . The morphology of swords evolved over time, so their design allows us to date them. The typological classifications can be based on the hilt or the blade, something important since the lifts (change of the pieces of the fist) were common. Eleventh-century sword blades are broad and robust, with slightly converging edges and a wide, rounded groove or groove, which emerges under the guard and reaches almost to the point. They correspond to Alfred Geibig's types 5, 6 and 7 and Ewart Oakeshott's types X, Xa and XI, whose classifications are based on the leaf.
The Tizona of the Marquis de Falces has a hilt of double curved ridge, typically Hispanic, dated around 1500-1520, similar to the sword of Gonzalo Fernández de Córdoba, the Great Captain. The blade conforms to a XIX type of Oakeshott, typical of the XV century:the hollowing is narrow and does not reach half the length of a blade that has a recess. It presents similarities with a copy of the Instituto de Valencia de Don Juan, dated around 1460-1480. A metallotechnical study led by Antonio Criado concluded that at least one of the three fragments of which the blade is made up seems to be Andalusian steel from the 11th century, perhaps reforged in the 15th to give it its current shape. This study aroused great skepticism among specialists and would have been a revolutionary dating method if it were not for the fact that, twenty years later, no one has carried out a similar one. In any case, the morphology of this sheet does not correspond to one from the Cidian period. As if that were not enough, the epic poem (v. 3178) says, of the Cid's swords, that "the maçanas and the arriazes are all gold", referring to a spherical pommel similar to that of the Andalusian examples of the 12th century found in Gibraltar, a common design among Islamic swords due to the belief that this would have been the sword of Muhammad.
For its part, the sword known as Joyeuse (the Joyous) appears in the documentary record in the 13th century associated with the coronation of French kings. The hilt is a late type X according to Jan Petersen's classification, dating from the 11th century, although such an elongated crosspiece could be somewhat later. The blade appears to be a Geibig Type 6 or Oakeshott Type XI, which points to the late 11th or 12th century.
Petersen's X-hilt swords, with a half-disc pommel, They come from the Frank area. The Karoli Magni Deed , a biography of Charlemagne, assures that a good part of the Frankish armament was exported abroad , and soon legal restrictions on this trade began to appear in the capitularies. Around the 9th century in the Rhineland a technique had emerged to make very hard and flexible sword blades, from a steel with hardly any impurities, obtained by melting in crucibles. The first sheets of this new steel, known from archaeology, bear the inscription VLFBERHT, that is, the name of the manufacturer, possibly an abbot or bishop. The wide spread of the VLFBERHT throughout Europe is evidence of the enormous impact this new technology had on the arms trade. One of these examples from the 11th century, which has a “brazil nut” knob —an evolution of type X—, has been found in Spain, and the peninsular iconography, such as the reliefs of the San Millán Arqueta, seems to confirm the presence of this type of swords.
In short, neither the Tizona nor the Joyeuse could have belonged, respectively, to Rodrigo Díaz and Charlemagne, although the latter resembles the swords of the 11th century. It would not be unusual for the sword or one of the swords of Rodrigo Díaz el Cid, inherited from his father, to be similar to Joyeuse . It could be objected that the decoration on its hilt makes it too recognizable, so it should have been avoided. We'll talk about that later.
Historical rigor and fiction, an impossible compromise?
The series El Cid is full of licenses and historical inaccuracies . However, this example of "hypercriticism" serves to reflect on various aspects of the documentation process. One of the most immediate questions that arises in the face of Joyeuse's controversy is why there is such a demand for "authenticity" among a public that, for the most part, is unable to distinguish a Renaissance sword from another in the High Middle Ages. This is not sarcasm. But to elucidate what kind of added value a historical rigor brings to an entertainment product that, in practice, only gives it validity before a handful of experts and, above all, where to establish the limit to that authenticity that generates such visceral and such an outright rejection if it is not met. Which was an inconceivable requirement just ten years ago.
It is obvious that the material culture of a time evoked on screen must conform to what the viewer knows, or else credibility suffers:you will not see a medieval knight , but to a guy in disguise. Magazines such as Desperta Ferro and informative books have increased popular knowledge about certain periods, which results in a greater demand in terms of rigor. However, excessive documentation, which distances the fiction from the popular imaginary about this period, also undermines credibility, at least among the majority public. Many critics of the television series have put Sidi of Arturo Pérez-Reverte as an example to follow . Actually, this novel is full of legendary elements:Álvar Fáñez, the other great Castilian hero of the 11th century, never accompanied Rodrigo into exile; the Jura de Santa Gadea is a legend from the 13th century, the Campeador never forced King Alfonso to swear that he had not murdered his brother; El Cid did not kill Jimena's father either; the Jews Raquel and Vidas are creations of the epic song, like the girl from the inn, immortalized centuries later by Manuel Machado; And a long etcetera. Despite or because of this, Pérez-Reverte's Cid is familiar enough for the reader to identify him.
In historical narrative, authenticity and verisimilitude are much more subjective virtues than is often claimed . There are no universal criteria to achieve them, only staunch critics who establish their own tastes and knowledge as a universal canon. To this question must be added the imperatives of an artistic nature. Military uniforms first appear at the end of the 17th century and, previously, different peoples or armies could use the same types of weapons. Differentiating troops in the chaos of combat was difficult in the past. At the Battle of Barnet in 1471, during the Wars of the Roses, a fog obscured visibility and, during the fighting, the Marquess of Montagu's troops mistook the standard of the Earl of Oxford for the insignia of Edward IV of York, and they rained down on their allies a rain of arrows that ultimately decided the outcome. This reality imposes the need to create an artificial uniformity so that the viewer can visually recognize the sides. In the battle of Rocroi in the film Alatriste, the convention was established that the Spanish would wear a morion and the French would wear a Burgundian, an arbitrariness that perhaps meant a feast for the seasoned rabbit hunter. Practical experience, on the contrary, shows us that, in this respect, "historical accuracy" only serves to make the montage confusing. Sometimes a shot of some soldiers charging to the right, followed by others running in the opposite direction, does not evoke two armies colliding, but the same unit with an "axis jump".
The wardrobe is an essential tool for the creation of characters. The clothing is the way in which a person decides to show himself, therefore it reveals his character, his social status and the way in which he wants to be perceived. Colors convey emotions, blue tones give us the feeling of being in front of someone cold and distant. These cultural codes have varied over the centuries. Although the cinema has accustomed us to clothing in muted tones, certain dyes were a symbol of social rank, since they were so expensive that they were only available to the nobles. This fondness for garish colors in the eyes of the modern viewer is strident, since, most of the time, he associates dirt, rust and fraying with authenticity. Contemporary aesthetic standards create an aversion to tight leggings; some garments, such as the pellote, are considered unmanly or even tacky. The historical recreation groups with the greatest vocation for authenticity can confirm that, frequently, the images that become more popular on the networks (Tumblr, Pinterest) or are used as support for blogs and YouTube videos, are not those with a greater quality in the replicas, but those that conform to certain stereotypes. In the case of the Norse of the Viking Age, what is perceived as “authentic” is a biker aesthetic . The most popular "reenactors" wear long hair in the wind, although adult women of the Middle Ages almost invariably used some kind of headdress.
One of the weakest facets of the El Cid series —in other outstanding aspects— resides precisely in the costumes , not so much because of the lack of historical fidelity but because of the aforementioned issues. King Ferdinand's sons—Sancho, Alfonso, Garcia—do not show a regal aspect, they are barely distinguishable from the lower-ranking characters, and their clothing contributes little to reflecting their character. As usual, the greatest licenses fall on the Andalusians. The basic garment used in urban and court contexts in al-Andalus was the aljuba, a loose-fitting, foot-length tunic brought from Baghdad by the poet Ziryab in the 9th century. In the rural world, for hunting and war, the saya, a shorter tunic, was more common. The Andalusians of the 11th century did not wear a turban, a garment associated with Berber mercenaries that would become popular already in the Almohad period, but rather a cap or bonnet called qalansuwa , and artistic representations, such as the Leyre chest, show shaven faces. The appearance of the hakim- The ambassador who strikes up a friendship with El Cid in the series turns out to be different from that of an Andalusian nobleman from the Taifa period. The question that could be asked is would the viewer recognize a Hispanic-Muslim with an “authentic” costume?
To all these considerations must be added the economic and logistical constraints . When the viewer sees a battle sequence, or a market full of people, he is seldom aware of the challenges involved in dressing and making up three hundred people. Imagine a huge tent, like a factory assembly line, where a line of people in tracksuits enters through one door and a medieval army, covered in dust and blood, leaves through the other in less than an hour. Making this possible requires concessions. Historical reality tells us that the "trousers" of the Middle Ages were huge linen panties and two independent leggings or legs fixed to a belt as "stockings and garter belt". Since the fabrics were not elastic, the patterning of the leggings had to be tailored to the user, who had to learn to dress in these clothes and the first few times it was cumbersome. The reality of cinema implies that the figuration extra is a guy who is paid 50 euros a day and has never worn anything similar. He can measure between 1.60 and 2 meters tall, and has to dress himself, with as little help as possible, with what they give him in a row; clothing for which, in practice, there are only two sizes:too big or too small. So the leggings are replaced by linen pants with a rubber band at the waist.
All this means that, in the historical genre, “authenticity” must be established based on a double commitment. A fidelity to the past, so as not to “take the viewer out of fiction”, but ignoring those elements that are only familiar to the scholar. The second compromise is between historical reality and artistic needs, or budget limitations. Very few productions have the ability to make their own weapons, or costumes beyond the main actors. For this, rental companies are used, with a huge stock and the logistical capacity to dress a large number of extras. The choice of weapons is usually made around a table where the company deposits a series of weapons, which, on too many occasions, means choosing between the "least bad":those that best fit the time are assigned to the protagonists, those that are acceptable are given to the secondary, and the most questionable, for figuration.
Joyosa was elected by write these lines during a rushed and busy half-hour meeting in Navalcarnero, as an informal adviser to the company of specialists. The swords assigned to the rest of the characters had disc pommels —the most common in Hispania in the 11th century judging by the iconography, according to Álvaro Soler del Campo— and no decoration, but the director wanted a more decorated and archaic weapon, since It would have been a family heirloom that Diego Laínez gave to his son Rodrigo. It made sense. Some wills of Hispanic nobles between the 10th and 12th centuries refer to a optima frank spatha bequeathed in inheritance. This weapon was very expensive, since it could cost about five salaries, and was passed from generation to generation as an inheritance, so that, throughout its useful life, it used to have several owners. Despite the Viking custom of burying noblemen with grave goods, sometimes including a rich panoply, a kenning Norse refers to the sword as an "ancestral relic".
So, at that moment, it did not seem like a bad idea to choose, from what was on the table, the sword attributed to Charlemagne, with a typology that fits the XI, without knowing the visual prominence that it would take on in the montage, much less that it would be used for the promotional poster. The logical thing would have been to make a replica from a design. A year later, in an atmosphere exacerbated by the unfortunate statements of one of the actors, I discovered that this decision, which the director no doubt doesn't even remember anymore —I only participated in that meeting—, is part of a progressive conspiracy to manipulate the history of Spain.
A television series is the result of the work of hundreds of people. There is no single adviser, each department can count on its own. The challenge for the ultimate manager is to coordinate a large number of professionals who work in very different areas, to achieve this commitment to authenticity while encouraging their creativity and giving the project a homogeneous aesthetic. All this involves involving them in a philosophy that considers historical rigor as a challenge and a value in itself. Communication is essential, it is better that the information flows earlier to having to discard a job already done. Constructive criticism is one that points out what is wrong and provides solutions. Most of the time all this is nothing more than an ideal. The artist often sees the historical adviser as someone whose job it is to limit his creativity. Most times the expert does not have veto power and wanders through the ins and outs of the organization chart like a ghost , without his opinions having real consequences on the project.
Hegel called beautiful souls to those who “in order to preserve the purity of their hearts, shun all contact with reality”. The mere act of criticizing would place the person exercising it on a plane of intellectual superiority; From the living room of the house it is very easy to demand an impossible rigor. "Artistic licenses" are not, nor can they be, a carte blanche to bend historical reality at will, however, in the final result, countless factors have come into play, moving us away from any ideal. Fundamentalism in matters of historical rigor is an illusion that dissolves when in contact with reality.
References
- Bruhn de Hoffmeyer, A.:Arms &Armor in Spain:A Short Survey , Madrid:Institute of Studies on Ancient Weapons. Madrid:Higher Council for Scientific Research, 1972.
- Martínez Díez, G.:The historical Cid. An exhaustive study on the real Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar , Barcelona:Planet, 1999.
- Mínguez Fernández, J. M.:Alfonso VI. Power, expansion and internal reorganization . Hondarribia:Nerea, 2000.
- Oakeshott, E.:Records of the Medieval Sword . Woodbridge:Boydell, 1991.
- Oakeshott, E.:The Sword in the Age of Chivalry. Woodbridge:Boydell, 1994.
- Peirce, I.:Swords of the Viking Age . Woodbridge:Boydell, 2002.
- Porrinas González, D.:El Cid, history and myth of a warlord , Madrid:Awake Ferro Editions, 2019.
- Soler del Campo, A.:Hispanic medieval weaponry , Madrid:A-Z, 1987.
- Soler del Campo. A.:The evolution of medieval weaponry in the Castilian-Leonese kingdom and Al-Andalus (12th-14th centuries) , Madrid:E.M.E. Publications Service, 1993.