modern edition that carries only a single “authentic” version in which viewpoints apart from the dominant one have been submerged. Modern parallels offer a possible means of recovering these lost glosses, but with the danger of unintentionally introducing anachronistic concepts. But there are other options. By identifying various contemporary discourses on the social functions of spectacle, we can apply an insight gained through modern spectacle—that spectator responses are individual but constrained—while ensuring that these are confirmed by medieval sources.
Contemporary controversies over the nature and presentation of medieval pageants offer several points of view through which they were interpreted, which are roughly analogous to the “three orders” of medieval society: the rulers (e.g., the king, nobility, and knights), the church, and the people. Such a division is laid out in Alfonso X’s thirteenth-century legal code, which noted:
There are three kinds of festivals, the first, those which the Holy Church orders to be observed in honor of God and the saints; as, for instance, Sundays, the birthday of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and those of Holy Mary, of the Apostles, and of the other male and female saints. The second are those which emperors and kings order to be observed in honor of themselves; as, for instance, the days on which they are born; those of their sons who expect to reign, or the days of which they have been successful in great battles with the enemies of the Faith by conquering them, and such other days as they order to be observed in honor of themselves, which are treated in the Title on Citations. The third kind, called Ferias, are instituted for the common benefit of men, as, for instance, days upon which fruits are gathered.15
Members of each group not only participated in each kind of spectacle in different ways but also were able to draw upon a set of shared experiences and associations that conditioned their responses when they were in the audience. If we describe the interplay between cues, symbols, and associations that organized spectacles as a language, then each of these groups could be said to share a distinct dialect through which they filled in the symbolic images presented to them with the specifics of their own perspectives. This is not, of course, to say that membership in a social group imposed absolute limits on an individual’s possible reactions or that a certain performance would appeal to only one such group and no other. There was, in fact, a great deal of overlap. Many medieval religious festivals had secular aspects; at the same time, most secular festivals also had a strong religious component. Audiences were often diverse. Penitential processions, burlesque tournaments, royal entrances, spontaneous revelries—all these drew spectators and participants across social, economic, gender, and even religious boundaries.
All types of urban spectacles drew on this language to evoke particular intended responses, and each type inspired a range of corporate responses. A popular celebration such as Carnival might be broadly supported by the people, viewed with suspicion by nobles and civic authorities watchful for signs of trouble, and roundly condemned by the church on moral grounds. The perspectives characteristic of each group, however, did not constrain individuals: we do not have to look hard to find carousing priests, moralizing knights, or nervous townsfolk. But, as we shift the focus from the intent behind public spectacles to their popular reception, the interactions between these dominant strands of discourse become central. A number of critics have construed the individual as strong in the face of cultural pressures and have emphasized the ability of spectators to remake meanings to their own specifications. But these critics tend to minimize the multiplicity of influences that shape the experience and perception of performances.16 We cannot reduce audience response to a dichotomy of conformity or resistance. Nor can we say that individuals freely created their own responses. Instead there was a limited spectrum of possibilities established by ingrained cultural patterns. The sponsors of urban performances may not have been able to put a name to these processes, but they were aware of them. What they presented to the public, therefore, took into account their perceptions of likely reactions. Audiences may not have had a visible or the decisive role in determining the content of a performance, but their influence was profound and ubiquitous.
A full consideration of the range of responses to all the myriad forms of spectacle in fifteenth-century Castile would be unwieldy. A detailed reading, however, of the ways in which the nobility and the church rationalized and critiqued the knightly tournament can serve to illustrate the interplay of multiple perspectives and their influence on audience responses. Tournaments were one of the most common urban spectacles. As such, they spawned an outpouring of rhetoric that often invoked issues directly related to the frontier.
Fifteenth-century Castilian tournaments took place within the context of significant changes in the position of the aristocracy. To understand what nobles thought of their tournaments, therefore, it is necessary to first consider these contexts. On the one hand, a succession of weak kings accorded the greatest nobles unprecedented influence and power, while the Granadan frontier offered autonomy and glory, leading Castilian chivalry to the pinnacle of its fame. On the other, competition from the caballeros de cuantía (non-noble mounted warriors) and letrados (university graduates trained in canon or civil law) undermined the aristocracy’s traditional military and political roles. At the same time, nobles increasingly lived in cities where they often had to understand and address the needs of urban constituencies. These social and economic changes inspired passionate discussions on the functions of chivalry, nobility, and monarchy. Among the nobles, these took place through literary debates that explored the comparative values of arms and letters or of birth and personal achievement.17 In order to appeal to the populace, however, they adapted tournaments and dramatic skits previously limited to courtly audiences.
While the Farce of Ávila was unusual in its direct political significance, it drew on the relatively recent practice of presenting courtly exhibitions as public entertainments. This trend had gained momentum in the fifteenth century as nearly every extraordinary event or holy day was taken as an excuse for recreation or as the object of a ceremony. The range of spectacles enacted on the streets and plazas of Castilian cities is seemingly endless: processions, tournaments, mime shows, dramas, and bullfights. These marked occasions including royal visits, religious events (such as Corpus Christi, Christmas, and Epiphany), the anniversaries of key dates in civic history, noble weddings, funerals, and births, and so on. Local fêtes were often the liveliest, but external events, especially royal deaths and coronations, were publicly commemorated throughout the realm. The Farce of Ávila, for instance, was understood to make Alfonso king in Ávila only. For his crowning to be meaningful, nobles elsewhere needed to accept his claim and enact similar public rituals in their towns.18 By conspicuously sponsoring a variety of events and by controlling their content, urban nobles sought to maintain or extend their influence at the expense of their rivals.
Long-term frontier fighting and political instability exacerbated the situation. Because of the military requirements of war against the Muslims, specifically the need for large numbers of horsemen, the nobility lacked the monopoly over the role and accoutrements of the mounted warrior enjoyed by their counterparts in France and England. Members of urban militias, the caballeros de cuantía (or de premia), could claim at least some of the honors and obligations of knighthood, even though they lacked titles, and even some merchant associations adopted the trappings of chivalry.19 Political innovations dating to the mid-fourteenth-century accession of the Trastámara dynasty provided other rivals. The first of the Trastámras, Enrique II (1369–1379)had overthrown his predecessor in a lengthy civil war. Because his hold on the throne was insecure, he rewarded his followers with privileges and extensive grants of lands. The result was a transformation of the high aristocracy, as families prominent since the eleventh and twelfth centuries made way for the “new” nobility, which consisted mostly of formerly minor branches of the great old noble houses.20 To balance the power of the new nobles, Enrique turned to the letrados, giving them control of the audiencia, the king’s own court of law with jurisdiction in cases involving the nobility.
While challenged by caballeros de cuantía and letrados, nobles could not even take solace in their ancient and storied lineages. Most, even those of the highest rank, traced their privileges and titles only as far back as the Trastámara accession, highlighting the contingent nature