Introduction

Historically, the fluctuations of bodies of water from peaceful to turbulent and destructive were often attributed to the wrath of the gods. From classical antiquity and through the Middle Ages, it was believed that angry gods caused natural catastrophes to punish mortals. In the aquatic realm, the gods’ fury manifested in tempests causing shipwrecks. As Steve Mentz points out in Shipwreck Modernity, the use of shipwreck as a theological parable is rooted in an ancient tradition, from Poseidon in the Odyssey to Yahweh’s anger with Jonah (^{Mentz 2015, 25}). These narratives equate nautical disaster with divine control throughout much of human history.¹ Under divine plan, humans are portrayed as morally flawed and weak beings, who in the midst of natural disasters, beseech the gods for mercy and salvation.² However, during the 17th century, wrath and its connection to shipwreck deviates from the divine realm of punishment and becomes correlated to rage and general intemperance in the human sphere.

The representation of shipwreck in the second half of the Spanish Golden Age falls into this new paradigm and is no longer the result of divine control or providential plan, but rather the consequence of humans’ loss of emotional control, leading the mind awry and eliminating rationality.³ In texts ranging from the popular emblematic genre of the time to novellas and theatrical plays, wrath is represented as the shipwreck of reason.⁴ Lack of control and the destruction of the mind as consequences of the passions are symbolized by the capsizing and devastation of ships by marine storms. In the Early Modern Spanish literary arena, the shipwreck motif draws from the medical notions of the time-particularly those related to the bodily humors-while still referencing classical antiquity. Within these sociocultural coordinates, wrath and unrequited love correlate with the choleric and melancholic natures, leading to madness and social unrest. This article elucidates how representing the intemperance of negative emotions as nautical devastation serves as an effective means to convey social and political commentary and transmit didactic messages.

Undercurrents of Wrath: Humors in Classical and Golden Age Thought

The representation of human wrath as metaphoric shipwreck makes perfect sense if we take into account the Stoic tradition, which was very much present throughout Europe during the last quarter of the 16th century and the first decades of the 17th century.⁵ It is the mind’s uncontrollable nature under rage that connects it to madness and, thus, the shipwreck of reason. For the Stoics, wrath was the most dangerous and toxic of the passions, understood here as negative emotions (pathē). Particularly relevant to this study are the statements laid out by Seneca in his On Anger around 45 a.c.e. While he followed other philosophers-Heraclitus, Socrates, and Plato among others-his work is especially important because many earlier studies have not survived and because his work was well-known among Spanish Golden Age writers. Seneca offered an extensive reflection on this vice, described the external signs of it, and offered guidance on how to avoid it or placate its effects. For him, human strength lay in rationality and the control of the passions, and anger impeded the ability to reason. In classical and Golden Age thought, wrath is a type of insanity, as it renders impossible the control of the mind.⁶ In this vein, reason can only be strong and solid when separated from the passions; once anger appears and grows, it overpowers reason, and one becomes enslaved by it. It is this lack of mental control that creates the connection to shipwreck as a representation of total disorientation, chaos, and destruction in the midst of the tempest. For Seneca, anger plunges one into ruin or peril and can often drag others with it. Indeed, in Book I of his study on wrath, he states that “there is nothing more savage to man than anger” (^{Seneca 1928, 119}).

For Seneca, this passion arises in those who are mentally weak, and he indicates in Book I of On Anger, that it is precisely they who become the angriest. Indirectly, there is a moral judgement, since those of strong mind are less prone to an extreme loss of control. Beyond the intellect, in Book II, he also connects wrath to bodily humors, or “elements,” such as wind and heat. The “windy” or “empty” quality stems from the lack of a firm or enduring foundation. The “hot” mind is the most prone to anger, as many Stoic thinkers, including Seneca, believed that anger resulted from the boiling of blood around the heart or chest. The presence of these elements predisposes one to manifestations of wrath, and in the most extreme cases, anger can lead to insanity.

The elements, or bodily humors, were prevalent in 16th- and 17th-century Spanish medical and philosophical thought. Roger Bartra explains in his study on melancholy and culture that 16th-century writers reinforced humoral interpretation, primarily due to the return to Greco-Roman sources (^{Bartra 2021, 56}). Particularly influential in systematizing the theory of humors was Avicena’s Canon de medicina (11th century) which, as Bartra points out, was prominent in European scientific thought, well into the 17th century (2021, 50). This medical encyclopedia was mandatory reading throughout European universities and its popularity across Europe spread through the Latin version put together by Gerardo de Cremona in the second half of the 12th century at the Escuela de Traductores de Toledo. In this medical treatise, Avicena established the possibility of four harmful forms of black cholera steaming from yellow bile, blood, black bile, and phlegm. Bartra indicates that this conceptualization better explained certain furies and aggressive behaviors that were sometimes associated with melancholy.⁷ Another highly influential text on humor theory was Juan Huarte de San Juan’s Examen de ingenios para las ciencias (1575), which became extremely popular within and outside Spain.⁸ In these medical works, cholera or yellow bile was responsible for inducing furies or wrath, vengeance, and incoherent and violent dementia, establishing a link between wrath and madness, as such furies affected mental faculties.

These connections between specific humors with wrath and madness are clearly reflected in Sebastián de Covarrubias dictionary Tesoro de la lengua castellana (1611), and his definitions reveal views common in the 17th century pertaining to these notions. Covarrubias provides the following definition for ira or wrath: “Cólera, enojo, súbito furor; del nombre latino ira […] Airarse tomar cólera; airado, el encolerizado” (^{Covarrubias 2006}, 1106)⁹. From the very first word, cólera, we see a correlation with the humors. Cholera also connects to “windy” using the terms airado, which takes us back to Seneca’s description. The word cólera carries the following definition: “Es nombre griego […] es uno de los cuatro humores. Tómase algunas veces por la ira, por cuento es efeto de la cólera. Colérico, el fogoso o acelerado. Encolerizarse, vale enojarse” (^{Covarrubias 2006, 576}).¹⁰ Here, we have another direct reference to the humors and their correlation with anger. Seneca’s description of this passion as the result of heat is seen here through the word fogoso. Other relevant terms relate to fury, since in the definition of wrath it is described as súbito furor. The terms furia, furioso, and furor also connect directly to madness and cholera since the person driven by fury can be seen as loco or mad. The entry for furioso offers the following description: “Muchas veces se toma por el loco […] otras por el enojado y colérico, que con furia y sin considerar lo que hace se arroja a hacer algún desatino sacándole de su juicio la ira” (^{Covarrubias 2006, 937}).¹¹ Hence, an angry person may be perceived as insane or choleric because of their engagement in actions outside of reason. Finally, Covarrubias defines loco, as connected to the traits of fury and cholera: “El hombre que ha perdido su juicio; lat. Insanus […] demens, furiosus. […] al loco solemos llamar vacío y sin seso; y así aquel lugar parece que queda sin llenarse […] o se dijo a loquendo, porque los tales suelen, con la sequedad del celebro, hablar mucho y dar muchas voces […] por causarse estas enfermedades […] la una de la cólera adusta” (^{Covarrubias 2006, 1210}).¹² In this sense, the excess of speech is a result of dryness which comes with the choleric nature. In the early 17th century, we continue to see links between wrath and madness via the humors established since antiquity.

The association between insanity and shipwreck is deeply rooted in classical literary tradition, in which the ship symbolizes the journey of life and often perilous nature of fortune. As Lawrence Otto Goedde remarks in Tempest and Shipwreck in Dutch and Flemish Art, “the tempestuous sea as image of the individual soul in the throes of profound emotion […] originated in Homer” (^{Goedde 1989, 36}). This theme continued to be articulated throughout the early Italian Renaissance. In the opening of Dante Alighieri’s Purgatorio, the epic poet’s mind voyages over the open sea: “Per correr miglior acqua alza le vele,/ Omai la navicella del mio ingegno” (Alighieri Canto I, 1f).¹³ Similarly, as I will demonstrate in this study, 17th-century Spanish literature also reflects this metaphor. A sound mind is figuratively equivalent to a tranquil voyage where the ship is in control of the maritime space, whereas a reckless and uncontrollable mind is likened to a ship tossed and destroyed by the tempest, incapable of returning from the abyss of the ocean.

Emotional Disorder as Nautical Upheaval in Emblem Books

The perilous nature of the ocean and sea, and the ever-present possibility of shipwreck, are predominant themes in the emblem books of the early modern era. In this very popular literary genre, which merged pictura and poesis, shipwreck is equivalent to human folly. As we can see in Sebastián de Covarrubias’ Emblemas morales (1610) and in Juan de Solórzano Pereira’s Emblemas regio-políticos (c.1658), the shipwreck motif appears many times in each work and is linked to vanitas, to lack of virtue and/or fortune, absence of the prince’s duties to his people, as a warning to be suspicious of change, and as a symbol of uncontrolled amorous passion and impulsive emotions. Specifically, in Covarrubias’ work, these themes are found in Emblem 32 from Centuria II, and Emblems 32, 87, and 89 from Centuria III. In Solórzano Pereira’s work, they appear in Emblem 38, 46, and 90. These associations echo topoi from classical antiquity in which the ship is a metaphor for the voyage of life, and turbulent waters for fortune.

It comes as no surprise that emblem book authors would connect lack of self-control to shipwreck disasters, as the image of the conflicted soul as a ship struggling in high seas was already part of a long literary tradition. Both in antiquity and the Early Modern period, lack of self-control entailed submitting to emotions such as rage, sorrow, confusion, lust, and uncontrolled passion, and, hence, madness. Allowing these passions to take over was considered dangerous both to the individual soul and to society at large. These notions were closely tied to the neo-Stoic movement prevalent in the literature of the time which advocated for the repression of emotion. Additionally, as Johnson indicates, the privileging of reason over emotion was not only the result of the resurgence of Stoic thought, but was also influenced by Neoplatonism, which censored the passions of the soul and sensory appetites, and by the Counter-Reformation’s association of these passions with sinful vices (Johnson 2020, 8).¹⁴

In the emblems, the ship in the storm serves as a warning for letting one’s impulses run wild, and the storm that brings the maritime disaster is particularly linked to man’s uncontrollable passions, especially wrath. In Emblem 32 of Centuria II, Covarrubias warns against mutability and change in fortune through the image of the ship out at sea. In the image portion of the emblem, two mariners high up on the mast try to bring in the sails before the arrival of the storm. The Latin motto, Ne qua levis effluat aura (So no light wind blows), warns of the winds and their dangers, further elaborated in the verse portion, which states “teme la mudanza” (“fear change”).¹⁵ This is relevant to this study on the correlation of shipwreck with anger, which is explicitly addressed in the prose elaboration of the emblem’s message:

Muchos hombres se han perdido por no acordarse que lo son y que en esta vida no hay cosa firme ni estable. Y particularmente acontece este olvido por los que, favorecidos de los príncipes, se han desvanecido no con fundamento de virtud y letras, sino tan solamente por antojo del Señor y buena suerte suya. Y pareciéndoles que navegan viento en popa despliegan todas sus velas, hinchándose con el favor y privanza, y cuando menos piensan, vienen a dar en algún escoglio o peñasco de cólera que abre la nave o en algún bajío de disfavor, que, encallando en el arena se pierden. (^{Covarrubias 2017}, 366)¹⁶

The danger for the ship, here symbolizing the human body, in particular the courtesan body, lurks not only in the tempest winds, but in the peñasco (rock) that will crack open the ship, causing shipwreck and the loss of the vessel (“encallando en el arena se pierden”/ “Running aground they loose themselves”). This common cause for shipwreck, the literal encounter of unseen rocks, is metaphorically transformed here into a danger posed by royal anger (“peñasco de cólera”/ “rock of cholera”). Smooth sailing symbolizes receiving royal favor, in particular, princely favor, which swells the ships sails (“sus velas, hinchándose con el favor y privanza”). However, royal wrath lurks in the least expected places and is unleashed in the least expected moments, causing the metaphorical shipwreck of the previously favored courtesan and casting her ashore. Thus, the theme of mutability is directly linked to the wrath of the lord, Señor, to the ira regia.

In Emblem 87 from III Centuria, the peñasco surrounded by never-ending enraged waves, acquires a different symbolic charge from the “peñasco de cólera” mentioned above, but still correlates to the dangers of uncontrolled emotions. In this emblem, the rock represents the person, specifically the heart, battered by uncontrolled passions. Here, the rock is figuratively the soul, unable to escape the impact of the infuriated waters caused by the lack of control of one’s emotions:

Cual el peñasco que del mar ceñido

y de espumosas ondas azotado,

de furiosos vientos combatido,

con perpetua tormenta está cercado,

tal debéis figurar un afligido

corazón de pasiones rodeado,

herido de uno y otro pensamiento,

verdugos de su pena y su tormento.

(^{Covarrubias 2017, 675})¹⁷

Thus, the classical image of the ship threatened by tempestuous waters is transmuted here into the peñasco. However, the danger of the uncontrolled waves remains through this image, as there is no escape from the perilous situation. In this case, Covarrubias draws from emblematic traditions where the representation of the rock amid rough waters frequently links passion with uncontrollable waves. The rock represents strong moral virtue that does not give in to the passions. It is projected as a trope of man’s confusion in the passionate state, where he becomes vulnerable and occupies a space that cannot be controlled and from which he cannot escape. In this sense, passion-whether amorous or broadly pertaining to classical negative emotions-is a destructive force. This is reminiscent of the classical association of erotic passion with storms, and the lover as a ship, or in this case, a rock.

In Solórzano’s emblems, lack of control is expressed through the danger of wrath and is primarily connected to the position of the nobility, particularly the prince or king. For example, in Emblem 38, under the motto Ira animi lutum vomit (Wrath vomits mud from the soul), the image depicts an enraged sea that “vomits” elements onto land, while in the background, a ship struggles to stay afloat. The connection between maritime storms and royal wrath is clearly stated in the verse section: “Cuando el mar tempestuoso combatido de los vientos baraja los elementos y se enoja riguroso, cieno y lodo vergonzoso, arroja mal satisfecho, enfrena, oh rey, del despecho las olas que la ira incita porque si no se limita cieno vomita tu pecho” (Solórzano 1987, 148).¹⁸ Here the king is invoked to control the resentment (despecho) that anger can trigger so as not to vomit mud.

Uncontrolled royal anger is therefore presented as the inversion of order in which the elements are shuffled (baraja los elementos), triggering the tempest that leads the sea to “vomit” dirt onto land. A similar message appears in Emblem 90 with the motto Regum bella populos quassant (king’s wars shake the people), in which the image portrays a ship in the flux of the storm beaten by waves and winds. The verse description again links the storm with the king’s instability: “Si Noto y Boreas se enojan amenaza gran tormenta este sopla y, aquél alienta, guerras en las aguas crecen. El piélago, que ha de hacer si el huracán lo conturba, precipitado se turba, todo es rabiar y temer el pueblo es mar, el rey viento, si la guerra cruel levanta, la plebe gime y se espanta, y se atreve a lo sangriento” (^{Solórzano 1987, 197}).¹⁹ In this case, regal control is crucial for peace, which would otherwise be threatened by wars set in motion due to royal wrath.

Plato and Aristotle had already established the allegory of the state as a ship and political writers of the 17th century often resorted to this paradigm in which the prince is pilot of the state, and as such must lead the ship in the right direction. In this case, the emblem image depicts a smaller boat on the left side of the composition and men fleeing from the larger ship. This image, along with the reference to people revolting against the state (“se atrave alo sangriento”), may very well refer to the rebellions that occurred in Portugal, Flanders, and Cataluña, among others, during the first half of the 17th century, and that were still prevalent in the socio-political imaginary during Solórzano’s time. Royal wrath and the wars it engenders lead to abandoning the main ship, symbolizing the fragmentation of the state. Under these emblematic configurations, the prince’s or king’s rage can obfuscate reason and place the state in danger.

Thus, these emblems convey, through the connection among storm, shipwreck, and wrath, a negative example in contrast to the ideal of ataraxia-the domestication of the passions-which would be expected of the elite class, particularly of a good king or prince.²⁰ This notion also appears in Solórzano’s Emblem 46, through an image that depicts a ship in calm waters, with a mariner throwing the anchor over the side to secure the vessel. The verse portion stresses the value of firmness, of stability via the anchor, which the good pilot ensures: “Ancora firme asegura la popa que el cristal baña. Y con la sonda asegura del buen piloto la maña ver del paraje la hondura” (^{Solórzano 1987, 64}).²¹ A good leader of a ship of state measures the depths that surround his boat and secures it so it is not washed away. Furthermore, the second part of the verse highlights the need to abide by justice during difficult storms: “En la tormenta cruel dante los consejos sondas la justicia áncora fiel” (^{Solórzano 1987, 64}).²² Here the anchor embodies justice, which should protect the ship from the tempest as it represents law, order, rationality, and, civility. In sum, in these emblems, the ship must be controlled and led by princely reason, and its governance reflects the political and moral ability of its “captain.”

Shipwreck, Rage and Moral Decline in “Tarde llega el desengaño”²³

The lack of ataraxia, particularly tied to wrath, leads to the shipwreck of reason among nobility in “Tarde llega el desengaño,” a novella from María de Zayas’ Desengaños amorosos (1647). In this story, the shipwreck trope acquires symbolic implications throughout the multiple fictional frames as a means to invert 17th-century gender notions and to support Zayas’ didactic purpose to call into question the patriarchal order of her time.²⁴

From the first fictional frame, the female narrator Filis tells the story of don Martín, who shipwrecks and becomes a castaway on the Gran Canary coast. Here, he is taken in by don Jaime who recounts his tragic life events. Don Jaime’s critical experiences are directly connected to the shipwreck motif, as described by the narrator (Filis), who states that after narrating his autobiography, don Jaime invoked “la memoria los naufragios de su vida” (^{Zayas 1983, 250})²⁵. The narrative voice emphasizes don Jaime’s multiple crises-here shipwrecks are spoken of in the plural-and that they are figurative wrecks, underscoring the fragility and failure of the male protagonist.

His first metaphoric shipwreck occurs in his relationship with Lucrecia in Flanders. Although he comes close to death, don Jaime escapes, only to encounter another crisis in his later marriage with Elena. Initially, their relationship sails smoothly. However, it turns topsy-turvy in what can be considered his next shipwreck when his female servant accuses his wife of infidelity. His known world is questioned and brought into uncharted territory. The crisis and disharmony in this situation are multiple: first, the servant takes Elena’s place in the household and marriage, and second, in don Jaime’s lack of emotional control. He takes his unharnessed anger to the extreme, inflicting severe punishment on his wife to the point that she “vive muriendo” and is reduced to the level of household dogs.

Two years later, don Jaime’s wrath brews uncontrollably, evident when he recounts the story to his guests. He states: “De haber traído a la memoria estas cosas, estoy con tan mortal rabia, que quisiera que fuera hoy el día en que supe mi agravio, para poder de nuevo ejecutar el castigo” (^{Zayas 1983, 250}).²⁶ His unrestrained nature (“mortal rabia”) is therefore presented as one of his shipwrecks, resonating with how shipwreck and tempest images are portrayed in the emblematic genre so popular in Zayas’ time.

In the previously examined emblem books, the ship in the storm serves as a warning against letting one’s impulses run wild, and the storm that brings the nautical disaster is linked to man’s uncontrollable wrath. The danger of wrath is connected to the position and responsibility of noblemen, with the didactic message clear: rage can obfuscate reason and, thus, place society in danger. The elite class is expected to control their passions for the benefit of the state and society in general.

Don Jaime’s extreme wrath therefore links to the metaphor of an individual in a tempestuous sea and maritime catastrophe. As Lawrence Otto Goedde points out in his study on tempest and shipwreck representations in early modern Dutch art, “[c]onfusion, sorrows, insanity, and rage all related to the violence of the moving sea, while the ship struggling in the high seas is seen to resemble a soul in a state of high excitement or torn by conflicting emotions” (1989, 36), where such emotions are frequently equated with an individual’s loss of self-control.²⁷ Indeed, don Jaime is very far from the ideal of ataraxia-so much so that even his shipwrecked guests, who are actual castaways, consider his reaction to and punishment of his wife as too harsh and imprudent:

Espantados iban don Martín y el compañero del suceso de don Jaime, admirándose cómo un caballero de tan noble sangre, cristiano y bien entendido, tenía ánimo para dilatar tanto tiempo tan cruel venganza en una miserable y triste mujer que tanto había querido, juzgando, como discretos, que también podía ser testimonio que aquella maldita esclava hubieses levantado a su señora, supuesto que don Jaime no había aguardado a verlo. (^{Zayas 1983, 250})²⁸

Here his figurative shipwreck serves as a narrative platform to transmit one of the central messages of the novella: the importance of the nobility to act discreetly and not trust the servants or allow them to acquire a higher social status. In fact, disharmony in nature’s order is brought about here, by the destructive force of the servant’s lies, as don Jaime foolishly believed a servant (rather than using good judgement) and acted impulsively. For Zayas, the nobility’s loss of control is the utmost example of a society gone awry and of disharmony of the “natural” order. Multiple scholars, among them William Clamurro and Elizabeth Rhodes, have argued that Zayas’ alliance to the hegemonic ideology of her time drives her narrative throughout the Desengaños amorosos. For Clamurro, the Zayesque oeuvre reflects and criticizes the ideological crisis during an era of political, economic and social decline.²⁹ In Zayas’ work, the nobility’s lack of morals is the cause for imperial decline and for many of the problems facing 17th-century Spain. As Rhodes states, “using the conservative values of the royalist, Catholic nobility as baseline, she points instead to how the elite have strayed from its class ideals” (2011, 27). Within this ideological framework, shipwreck serves as a central element in the story to symbolize the moral decline of the aristocracy.

Zayas further underscores the moral decline of the nobility when don Martín witnesses don Jaime’s final shipwreck: his madness, which occurs after his display of intense wrath following the servant’s confession, when he kills the servant and Elena passes away. As we saw earlier, the correlation of insanity with shipwreck was well established in classical literature. Here, before the final shipwreck of don Jaime’s madness, his prior shipwreck of loss of control due to wrath indicates his predisposition to mental illness. If we consider notions of madness in early modern Spain where insanity is interrelated to moral decay-and, conversely, sanity with Christian virtues-the loss of the uncontrollable ship of the mind in the nautical depths serves Zayas’ message regarding the decline of the nobility. In fact, in Counter-Reformation Spain-as María ^{Tausiet highlights in her essay (2009)}-insanity and moral decline were one of the most common clichés in the literature and mental incapacity was synonymous with intemperance and recklessness.

In this line of thought, the cultivation of Christian virtues and control of the vices could inhibit moral decay and mental illness; one’s ship of the mind would be safely kept at bay avoiding the tempestuous waters. Don Jaime’s multiple symbolic shipwrecks act as a paradigm to be avoided not only by the witnesses (and don Martín), but also by the intradiegetic audience in the first fictional frame and by the extradiegetic readers. In the closing remarks, the narrative voice stresses that don Martín returned to Toledo, married his cousin, and lives “contento y escarmentado en el suceso que vio por sus ojos, para no engañarse de enredos de malas criadas y criados” (^{Zayas 1983, 254}).³⁰ The tale thus emphasizes the need to maintain social order and hierarchy, as well as the responsibility of the upper-class male to uphold moral values-exemplified in part by controlling his passions-and to guide society in order to avoid future “shipwrecks.”

Lovesickness Capsizes Sanity in Los locos de Valencia

Seventeenth-century Spanish Emblem books and novellas often point to love related troubles (such as suspicion, jealousy, and unrequited love) as the seeds that grow into uncontrolled emotion-anger, in particular-leading to madness. However, the correlation of these mental and emotional states is most notable in some contemporaneous theatrical plays. Lope de Vega’s Los locos de Valencia (1620) provides a salient example. The play is set in the city of Valencia within the confines of the Hospital de locos and reflects 17th-century sociocultural associations around mental illness and lovesickness.

Before a specific analysis of the play’s imagery surrounding shipwreck and wrath, it is important to note that the hospital replaces the image of the ship within literary tradition. As Hélène ^{Tropé (2003)} explains in the introduction to the critical edition of the play, there was a strong literary tradition throughout Renaissance Europe (especially in France and Germany) in which the ship symbolized the senses that lead to madness. Tropé alludes to the 1499 work Narrenshiff by the Sebastian Brant and to the 1500 Stultiferae Naves by Josse Bade who used the ship to symbolize satirical allegories of vices, especially madness, and to denounce moral flaws-in the case of Bade, the moral flaws of women-through the topic of madness (^{Tropé 2003, 11}). Therefore, a literary tradition connected the contained space of the vessel to mental illness and to the passions. Aside from the French and German references to ships of fools or madmen, an important intertext for this Lopesque play, identified by Tropé, is Luis ^{Hurtado de Toledo’s work Hospital de neçios hecho por uno de ellos que sanó milagrosamente (1582)}. Hence, Lope’s play also partakes of the literary tradition of the “hospitales de amor” (Tropé 2003, 17).

In this late 16th-century literary tradition, the ship as a rhetorical space to reflect upon the mentally ill is replaced by the hospital and focuses on the mental maladies that arise in relation to love. As Tropé indicates: “La nave simbólica hacia la cual se precipitaban los insanos del Mundo, presos de vicios horrendos, cede el paso a nuevas galerías de locos representados […] en el espacio alegórico o en el marco institucional de un Hospital” (2003, 16-17).³¹ The symbolic transition from vessel to hospital in Spanish literature makes sense given the establishment, throughout the 15th- and 16th-centuries, of hospitals fully dedicated to mental illness in the Iberian Peninsula, particularly those in the Crown of Aragón, such as the Ospitalis Ignoscencium in Valencia.³² In Lope’s time, this hospital in Valencia would have been a well-known reference as a center that housed the mentally ill. Therefore, as Tropé highlights, the contained space of the hospital as a medium to represent the insane replaces that of the vessel in the literary realm.

The title of Lope’s play establishes a direct correlation to literary traditions and 17th-century sociocultural notions that deal with madness and the maladies that stem from the passions of love. While these are indeed serious medical and philosophical topics that generated much reflection and the production of numerous oeuvres in Spain and throughout Europe during the Early Modern period, Lope chose to present them as humorous and parodic. In Los locos de Valencia, madness is presented through a carnivalesque perspective that does not threaten social order. This is accomplished mainly through the integration of characters that pretend to be mentally ill with those who are actually insane. In fact, all the main characters feign insanity for different reasons. For example, the protagonist Floriano pretends to be crazy to seek refuge in the Valencia hospital because he thinks he has killed the Prince of Aragón (in the third act of the play he discovers that this is not the case). The female protagonist, Erifila, is placed in the hospital against her will, but once she meets Floriano within the confines of the hospital, they fall in love and continue to pretend to be mentally ill so that they can stay close to each other. Two other characters (Fedra and Laida) also pretend to lose their minds in order to seduce Floriano, with whom they have fallen in love. All three female characters (Erifila, Fedra and Laida) fall madly in love (pun intended) with a supposed hospital patient (Floriano) and attempt to imitate his insanity to seduce him. In this context, madness becomes attractive and leads to the emergence of more mad people, even if they are only faking it. What is of particular interest here is how these characters act out madness, reflecting 17th-century social notions around perceptions of the mentally ill. The parameters used by the hospital administrators to determine who should be placed under their care provides insight into the elements Lope’s society ascribed to the insane. Among the most salient indicators of madness was wrath.

As Floriano prepares to go into hiding in the hospital, his friend Valerio asks whether he knows how to pretend to be insane and offers advice on how to do so: “Oíd; que habéis de haceros tan furioso que todo el mundo por furioso os crea./ Tiene Valencia un hospital famoso,/ adonde los frenéticos se curan/ con gran limpieza y celo cuidadoso” (^{Vega 2003, 114}).³³ Here, the main attribute to pass as mentally ill is to be “furioso,” which is equivalent to being overtaken by wrath. But there is another connotation in the second use of the word, which would be equivalent to “crazy.” The implementation of Valerio’s double entendre reflects Covarrubias’ definition, in which wrath causes the loss of reason (“sacar de su juicio la ira”). Therefore, acting furiously was part of one of the well-established types of insanity of the time: the dangerous or aggressive mad person.³⁴

The “furioso” was also a well-established type within European literature already present in the Middle Ages. It gained further attention during the Renaissance with oeuvres such as the influential Italian chivalric romance Orlando Furioso (1532) by Ludovico Ariosto, which recuperated themes from the Classics such as that of the furor amoris.³⁵ Importantly, Orlando Furioso was one of the primary literary references within the Spanish circuit well into the second half of the 17th century. Here, the protagonist, Orlando, becomes mad and kills shepherds after having experienced a love betrayal.³⁶ This literary prototype directly inspired such characters as Cardenio in El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha (Don Quixote) and is also referenced and parodied in Lope’s play when two characters, Floriano and Erifila, try to seduce each other.³⁷

The furious insane person was frequently placed into a cage to protect others from their aggressive nature while they were overtaken with anger. This practice is referenced in the play when Erifila is first seen outside the hospital, screaming to denounce her lover, who has robbed her. In an exchange between Valerio, a witness to the scene, and Pisano, one of the hospital custodians who takes her into the institution, we see the furious nature used once again as a characteristic of the mentally ill:

Valerio: […] Y dejadle sin prisión

mientras la furia le deja.

Pisano: Sí haré, pero si se queja,

jaula ha de haber

(^{Vega 2003, 150})³⁸

In this context, madness is conceived as an alteration of the mind characterized by bouts of wrath. The absence of reason constitutes their condition of mental illness. As we had seen in Seneca’s essay, anger hinders the ability to reason. Thus, a “furious” person is dangerous to themselves and others, not only because they are unpredictable and unreasonable but also because they deviate from the expectations of normative society.

It is interesting to note that Valerio states that the insane can be healed with adequate care (“celo cuidadoso”) but also with extreme hygiene (“gran limpieza”). There is an association here with the pure/impure nature that would connect to the moral and religious realm. In Lope’s time, madness is, as we have seen, correlated with moral decline or a moral crisis. In this sense, it is connected to impureness and, of course, sin. The condition of being considered defiled appears in many Early Modern representations of the insane and they are frequently depicted as outside of civilized space. In a study on madness and melancholy in Lope’s work, Belén Atienza shows that in Cesare Ripa’s 1593 work Iconlogia, the entry for “crazy” uses the image of a man running through the fields on a stick in order to escape the urban space and seek refuge in the natural world (2009, 4). Madness is presented as detachment from the common norm that relegates the insane to the margins; they are placed outside of civilization. As Atienza points out, “[e]l loco está aislado de los cuerdos porque está fuera del discurso de la razón civilizadora la cual desconoce” (2009, 6).³⁹ The break with rationality and civility is often portrayed through the physical body.

In the literature and art of the Early Modern period, the insane are represented as partially or fully naked, barefoot, soiled and with their hair in disarray. They are usually depicted within the natural world, positioning them closer to the level of animals than that of humans. Their speech is frequently noted as either absent or uncontrolled, disconnected, or completely incoherent. Atienza explains that the most common representation of the insane in the Middle Ages and Renaissance was that of the vagrant who wandered in the natural world, rather than the confined one that predominated in later centuries (^{Atienza 2009, 37}). Symbolically, wandering was a means to emphasize loss in all its spectrum: loss from mental control, moral or spiritual loss, and spatial loss or disorientation. In this sense, we can see how the topos of shipwreck and the figure of the castaway would be a suitable analogy for authors and artists. In a similar fashion, the castaway has been dispossessed of all their belongings, clothing, and shoes, and their entire being displaced from the known and civilized world; they are placed into the crux of the forces of nature. The castaway is disoriented, estranged from civilization, and threatened in a manner similar to that of the loco furioso, as their control over space, life, and understanding is lost. The castaway wanders the new space in an attempt to map out their location and search of the familiar.⁴⁰

In Erifila’s case, Lope uses the nautical disaster metaphor to describe her bewilderment due to the abandonment and betrayal she experiences as the result of her lover’s abuse. This female protagonist first appears accompanied by Leonato, who is her lover but has also been her family’s servant. Erifila has gone against her noble family’s wishes by establishing a relationship with a man from a lower social stratum and fleeing to Valencia with him to avoid the marriage her parents had arranged. However, the plan fails when Leonato forces her to give him her jewels and money along with her clothing and abandons her in the center of Valencia by the hospital for the mentally ill. It is here, in an unfamiliar space, that she describes her desperation using the shipwreck motif in the following monologue:

Sin consejo le perdí [el entendimiento]

por escusar de matarme,

y a la mar quise arrojarme,

de donde agora salí.

La nave dejo perdida,

y el áncora de esperanza

entre falsa bonanza

de aquel traidor prometida.

Desnudo entre mil enojos

sin alma el cuerpo salió,

con el agua que le dio

para que lloren mis ojos.

¿Qué he de hacer? ¡Pobre de mí!;

Que en pensar adonde estoy,

a perder el seso voy

y el dolor me vuelve en mí.

¿Dónde iré? ¿Qué me detengo?

(^{Vega 2003, 135-136})⁴¹

She compares herself, and indirectly her honor, to a ship that has been lost (“la nave dejo perdida”), since the anchor has been turned over to a traitor. The anchor, which can keep the ship safe from dangerous waters, here, is likened to her hope and the future she had envisioned. But this anchor has vanished because she had entrusted it to her lover, who has now become her traitor. She is like the shipwrecked vessel without an anchor. Furthermore, her comparison places her not only at the level of the ship, but also at that of the castaway who has lost their clothing due to the impact of the waters. She expresses her despair through the imagery of a nautical disaster, but it is also what prevents her from taking her life as she gives herself to the sea. In this sense, she is a castaway, a survivor and throwing herself symbolically into the sea would be an act of madness stemming from her desperation. In this new state of loss, disorientation, and devastation, she questions where she should seek refuge. Simultaneously, she is cognizant of the instability of her mental state as she indicates that she is losing her mental abilities (“a perder el seso voy”). This perspective would be expected of the castaway after having experienced a nautical catastrophe. Here the seafaring imagery is that of the dangerous nature of the sea with its treacherous waters.⁴² Thus, only those without proper judgement would place themselves in such a state.⁴³ Hence, we see once more the connection between ship, tempest, madness and loss.⁴⁴

Another use of the metaphor of the ship and nautical disaster in Los locos de Valencia is offered in the last Act (Jornada III), when Fedra expresses her internal conflict, related to unrequited love:

Alborotose la mar

con un poco de tormenta

y mi nave anduvo atenta

solo a poderse salvar.

Vio desde lejos el puerto

y hasta llegar no paró;

todas las jarcias perdió

y hasta el casco quedó abierto.

(^{Vega 2003, 317})⁴⁵

Again, we see the body and mind as equivalent to the ship. When the passions take over, the ship enters stormy weather, placing it in grave danger. Fedra must pay close attention to arrive at a safe port, since the waters are altered and land is distant (“vio desde lejos el puerto”). In her attempt to make it to shore, that is to resume emotional control, she suffers harm since her “ship” losses all the rigging (jarcias) and its hull is severely damaged (“el casco quedó abierto”). Not only is the ship rendered useless in the fishing endeavor, but it is at risk of sinking since the hull is open and water penetrates its core. In her case, the damage is done not only due to her being struck by love, but also because this love is unrequited. Thus, the damage is double: first because the mind of those in love is overtaken by desire, and second because of the suffering caused by unrequited love. The trope of the shipwreck acquires powerful symbolism as it is implemented as a metaphor for love maladies as well as for madness-often stemming from wrath.

Navigating Hot Passions

If we return to contemporaneous notions around bodily humors, we can appreciate the connection between wrath and love, as both passions activate and result from similar bodily humors. As we have seen in Seneca’s writings, anger is associated with hot and windy dispositions and is the result of the boiling of blood around the chest or heart area. In the case of love, it is important to note that it was considered a disease and was a subject of medical concern. In his study of melancholia in Early Modern English literature, Lawrence ^{Babb (1951)} examines the association with love melancholy in Renaissance medical texts and highlights how their approach merges classical and medieval notions.⁴⁶ As Babb indicates, Medieval medical authors devoted sections of their works to love melancholy, or love malady along with other chapters that addressed other mental diseases such as madness. Babb notes that while classic medical authors, such Galen, included love in their study of disease, it was not connected to melancholy until much later in the medieval and Renaissance periods (1951, 128).⁴⁷ What is indicated in the medical treatises of the 16th and 17th centuries is that love is associated with blood, similar to wrath. For example, in treatises such as Erotomania (1612) by Jacques Ferrand, persons whose prevalent elements are heat and dryness are inclined to love malady; in particular he mentions that choleric persons are amorous (^{Babb 1951}, 131).⁴⁸ Accordingly, anger and love, as well as desire, are all regarded as “hot” passions-meaning that they affect the blood around the heart area-are connected to dryness (both as a result and as a cause of it), and can deplete the person of reason. While any type of love could lead to these alterations of body and mind, the aggravation of these symptoms was mostly associated with the melancholic stage of love-as opposed to the first stage of being enamored, which was designated as sanguine. It was common medical knowledge that love melancholy was the result of unrequited or unsatisfied love and was more detrimental to the mind and body than love that was consummated. It was unrequited love that caused extreme mental impulses, anxiety, insomnia, mood inconsistencies, lack of coherent discourse, and overall mental derangement (^{Babb 1951, 135-136}). Given the medical approaches of the time, it makes sense that people with choleric tendencies would be prone to love malady and anger, and consequently, madness.

In Lope’s play, we see these medical and cultural notions around mental illness and the passions under a comical light; society is not threatened since all lack of control occurs within the confinement of the hospital walls (or in its immediate vicinity) and also because the conclusion of the play reestablishes social order. The characters that were pretending to be mad reveal their sanity and those with bouts of madness due to lovesickness are cured through a series of marriages and fulfilled love. Order is restored within the hospital and the passions are subdued, allowing rationality and civility to return to those characters who had lost them because of their personal crisis. However, this was no light matter in the 17th century and, as we have seen throughout this study, there is ample warning in the literature of the time about the devastating effects that can result from letting amorous-and other-passions take over.

In sum, the literary texts examined in this study reveal that a sound mind is figuratively equivalent to navigation through calm waters and to the captain’s control of the vessel. Meanwhile, the mind that goes astray, that does not follow the course of rationality and emotional temperance is synonymous to the ship amidst the tempest, likely to be lost and to never return to safe harbor. Furthermore, in Early-Modern Spain, letting one's passions run wild, was problematic particularly for the nobility since they were expected to abide by the classical principle of ataraxia, or domestication of the passions. As the texts demonstrate, and stemming from classical literary tradition, to let the mind be taken over by wrath was frequently correlated to madness and, thus, to moral decline since under contemporaneous thought, insanity was connected to ethical degeneration and, conversely, sanity with Christian virtues. The emergence of wrath was not only interpreted through religion, but through medicine. As part of the “hot” passions, wrath along with love, pertained to the movement of blood in the chest area and was connected to the choleric nature. Thus, control of the passions was fundamental in becoming balanced in nature and maintaining good health. Those who gave into unrestrained emotions, were likely to capsize their mind’s ship. In sum, 17th-century Spanish literature used nautical devastation as a symbolic tool to transmit notions about the human psyche and conduct. It was often used to criticize the king or prince for capsizing the State, highlight the decline of the nobility as a governing class, or admonish the Imperial enterprise.