I don't know about you, but "The Life Of Lazarillo de Tormes" strikes me as kind of a late-period work to carry "Anonymous" in the author's credit. It's one thing for ancient art or literature to be uncredited – in such early years, there were times when work like that didn't have a maker's credit at all, or the maker's name might have been lost. In the 15th century, maker's credits were well enough prized to be known among the audience, weren't they? Especially when we're talking about a big seller like this, right? Until you think about the country and historical period we're talking about, that is, and the contents of the work in question. If I wrote a piece poking fun at the Catholic clergy during a time when the Spanish Inquisition was active, I don't suppose I'd want too many people to know my name, either. Never mind that this is a classic piece of humor – that's dangerous.
There's lot more to "Lazarillo de Tormes" than its clerical criticism, of course. It's widely considered to be the first "picaresque" novel, for instance, defined in Wikipedia as "a genre of prose fiction that depicts the adventures of a roguish, but appealing hero, of low social class, who lives by his wits in a corrupt society." That's a pretty good description of Lazaro, all right. He's a liar and thief, largely because he'd have a hard time surviving without those skills, but he invariably lies to and steals from people worse than himself who deserve whatever's coming to them – several of them go so far as to nearly starve him just to save a few coins. He's the son of an absent father and a serving woman who has to sell him to his first master, a blind beggar, because she can't possibly support him. As for the corrupt society – well, when I tell you that his masters include a miser who keeps his bread locked in a trunk, an all-but-atheist seller of indulgences (promises from the church that the purchaser's time in Purgartory will be reduced after death), and a young nobleman who insists on the privileges due to his rank until you learn that he's flat broke, you can draw your own conclusions.
Not that Lazaro looks down on these men, necessarily. He only gets annoyed with them when he gets hungry. At most other times he's more than happy to beg, borrow, or steal on their behalf and his own, and he gets pretty good at ripping off the suckers when need be. The only difference between him and his masters is, of course, that unlike most of them he never pretends to be any better than he is. He gets fooled only when, at the end of the story, he matures enough to take a wife. This woman, when confronted with her sexual history, bursts out crying on the spot. Lazaro immediately soothes her, promising never to bring up the subject again, and pronounces that he's been blissfully happy in his marriage ever since. Sucker? Well, maybe. Then again, who's to say?
Departing from the plot summary, you can get an idea of how influential "Lazarillo" has been by simply looking at its impact on the Spanish language, among other things. As Shakespeare did with English, "Lazarillo" added at least one word to Spanish – the word "lazarillo" has come to mean a person who leads a blind man around. As I mentioned, Lazaro's first master is a blind man, who teaches the boy much of what he'll need to know to prosper in the Spain of his age. In one well-known incident, Lazaro and his master receive a basket of cherries, and take turns eating one at a time. Seeing his master take two at a time, Lazaro begins taking more per turn, and thinks he's gotten away with it until the blind man scolds him, saying that the kid must be cheating or he would have spoken up when his master started to cheat on his own behalf. Thus, as with so many other experiences, Lazaro gradually learns that he can't rely on anyone but himself. Which is a little ironic when you consider that the church of his day loudly promises to take care of his every need if he'll only believe and obey, but then again that's exactly the point, isn't it?
He still has a good heart, though. Even when he abandons the blind man to the law's justice, he's charitable enough to feel sorry for him and wonder how he'll do on his own. So, not a good enough heart to be charitable at his own expense, but good enough to feel guilty about it. Never mind the anti-clerical jokes – if that's the anonymous author's opinion of what makes a good Christian, or the Church's opinion about what makes one, no wonder he kept his name to himself.
Benshlomo says, The trick is to express yourself without letting the bad guys catch you at it.
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