Guide The Fickle First Finger (Companion Books for Gum Drop Notes Book 103)

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On the desktop a photograph of two boys dressed as Red Indians marked a kind of logical centre amid the chaos.

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The US President is coming… well, you read papers, don't you. Coffee, Harry? Moller had stood up and a couple of seven-league strides had already taken him to a filing cabinet on which, balanced atop a pile of papers, a coffee machine was coughing up a viscous substance. Moller had never quite learned to handle irony. That was just one of the things Harry appreciated about his boss. Moller drew in his knees until they supported the bottom of the table. Harry leaned back to get the crumpled pack of Camels from his trouser pocket and raised an enquiring eyebrow at Moller, who quickly took the hint and pushed the brimming ashtray towards him.

As well as the President, there will be Barak -'. Or I'll be even more worried about you than I already am. It was on all the front pages last week. Inflicting serious gaps in my general knowledge. A grave handicap to my social life. Who would find a man in his mid-thirties, who knows all the details about the lives of the people on The Robinson Expedition but can hardly name any head of state, or the Israeli President, sexy?

Moller stifled a laugh. He had a tendency to laugh too easily. And a soft spot for the somewhat anguished officer with big ears that stuck out from the close-cropped cranium like two colourful butterfly wings. Even though Harry had caused Moller more trouble than was good for him. As a newly promoted PAS he had learned that the first commandment for a civil servant with career plans was to guard your back. When Moller cleared his throat to put the worrying questions he had made up his mind to ask, and dreaded asking, he first of all knitted his eyebrows to show Harry that his concern was of a professional and not an amicable nature.

This time Moller couldn't hold back his laughter. I need three liaison officers to secure the road,' he said. I thought Tom Waaler…'. Racist bastard and directly in line for the soon-to-be-announced inspector's job. Harry had heard enough about Waaler's professional activities to know that they confirmed all the prejudices the public might have about the police. Apart from one: unfortunately Waaler was not stupid. His successes as a detective were so impressive that even Harry had to concede he deserved the inevitable promotion.

And I'm eternally grateful to you for that. But what is this? Liaison Officer? Sounds like an attempt to prove to the doubters that you were right, and they were wrong. That Hole is on his way up, that he can be given responsibility and all that. There's always a hidden agenda. This is no worse than anything else. Do a good job and it'll be good for both of us. Is that so damned difficult? Harry sniffed, started to say something, caught himself, took a fresh run-up, then abandoned the idea.

He flicked a new cigarette out of the pack. He owed Moller this favour, but what if he screwed up? Had Moller thought about that? Liaison Officer. He had been on the wagon for a while now, but he still had to be careful, take one day at a time. Hell, wasn't that one of the reasons he became a detective? To avoid having people underneath him, and to have as few as possible above him?

Harry bit into the cigarette filter. They heard voices out in the corridor by the coffee machine. It sounded like Waaler. Then peals of laughter. The new office girl perhaps. He still had the smell of her perfume in his nostrils. With two syllables, which made his cigarette jump twice in his mouth. Moller had closed his eyes during Harry's moment of reflection and now he half-opened them. The grey bird glided into Harry's field of vision and was on its way out again.

He increased the pressure on the trigger of his. Someone had been talking about slow time on TV yesterday. The first motorcycle was level with the toll booth, and the robin was still a black dot on the outer margin of his vision. The time in the electric chair before the current…. And then time accelerated explosively. The coloured glass went white, spraying shards over the tarmac, and he caught sight of an arm disappearing under the line of the booth before the whisper of expensive American tyres was there-and gone.

He stared towards the booth. A couple of the yellow leaves swirled up by the motorcade were still floating through the air before settling on a dirty grey grass verge. It was silent again, and for a moment all he could think was that he was standing at an ordinary Norwegian toll barrier on an ordinary Norwegian autumn day, with an ordinary Esso petrol station in the background. It even smelled of ordinary cold morning air: rotting leaves and car exhaust.

And it struck him: perhaps none of this has really happened. He was still staring towards the booth when the relentless lament of the Volvo car horn behind him sawed the day in two. The flares lit up the grey night sky, making it resemble a filthy top canvas cast over the drab, bare landscape surrounding them on all sides. Perhaps the Russians had launched an offensive, perhaps it was a bluff; you never really knew until it was over. Gudbrand was lying on the edge of the trench with both legs drawn up beneath him, holding his gun with both hands and listening to the distant hollow booms as he watched the flares go down.

He knew he shouldn't watch the flares. You would become night-blind and unable to see the Russian snipers wriggling out in the snow in no man's land. But he couldn't see them anyway, had never seen a single one; he just shot on command. As he was doing now. It was Daniel Gudeson, the only town boy in the unit. The others came from places with names ending in -dal. Some of the dales were broad and some were deep, deserted and dark, such as Gudbrand's home ground. But not Daniel. Not Daniel of the pure, high forehead, the sparkling blue eyes and the white smile.

He was like a recruitment-poster cut-out. He came from somewhere with horizons. Yes, there was because the others were shooting. Crack, bang, swish. Every fifth bullet went off in a parabola, like a firefly. Tracer fire. The bullet tore off into the dark, but it seemed suddenly to tire because its velocity decreased and then it sank somewhere out there. That was what it looked like at any rate. Gudbrand thought it impossible for such a slow bullet to kill anyone. It was Sindre Fauke. His face almost merged with his camouflage uniform and the small, close-set eyes stared out into the dark.

He came from a remote farm high up in the Gudbrandsdalen region, probably some narrow enclave where the sun didn't shine since he was so pale. Gudbrand didn't know why Sindre had volunteered to fight on the Eastern Front, but he had heard that his parents and both brothers had joined the fascist Nasjonal Samling Party, and that they went around wearing bands on their arms and reporting fellow villagers they suspected of being partisans. Daniel said that one day the informers and all those who exploited the war for their own advantage would get a taste of the whip. Gudbrand stared out into the grey-white dark.

White snow, white camouflage uniforms, white fire. The skies are lit up again. All sorts of shadows flit across the crust of the snow. Gudbrand stared up again. Yellow and red flashes on the horizon, followed by several distant rumbles. It was as unreal as being at the cinema, except that it was thirty degrees below and there was no one to put your arm around. Perhaps it really was an offensive this time?

Almost no frost smoke was coming out of his mouth any longer. Then, a high-pitched, screaming whistle, a warning scream, and Gudbrand threw himself into the ice-covered bottom of the trench, with both hands over his head. The ground shook. It rained frozen brown clumps of earth; one hit Gudbrand's helmet and he watched it slide off in front of him. He waited until he was sure there was no more to come, then shoved his helmet back on.

It had gone quiet and a fine white veil of snow particles stuck to his face. They say you never hear the shell that hits you, but Gudbrand had seen the result of enough whistling shells to know this wasn't true. A flare lit up the trench; he saw the others' white faces and their shadows as they scrambled towards him, keeping to the side of the trench and their heads well down, as the light gradually faded.

But where was Daniel? Gudbrand couldn't believe his own ears. Daniel slid down into the trench and shook off the snow and earth. He had a broad grin on his face. Tormod is avenged. I saw the Russian disappear down into the hollow. His small eyes jumped from one man to the next, as if to ask whether any of them believed Daniel's boast. Isn't that right, Daniel? Daniel shrugged, checked the chamber and cocked his gun. Then he turned, hung the gun over his shoulder, kicked a boot into the frozen side of the trench and swung himself up over the top.

Daniel took the spade and straightened up to his full height. In his white winter uniform he was outlined against the black sky and the flare, which hung like an aura of light over his head. He looks like an angel, Gudbrand thought. The calm soldier from Mjondol seldom raised his voice with veterans like Daniel, Sindre and Gudbrand in the unit.

It was usually the new arrivals who received a bawling out when they made mistakes. The earful they got saved many of their lives. Now Edvard Mosken was staring up at Daniel with the one wide-open eye that he never closed. Not even when he slept. Gudbrand had seen that for himself. But Daniel simply smiled and the next moment he was gone; the frost smoke from his mouth was left hanging over them for a tiny second.

Then the flare behind the horizon sank and it was dark again. They reminded him of another country boy who had been there. He had gone crazy in the end, pissed in his shoes one night before going on duty and all his toes had had to be amputated afterwards. But he was back home in Norway now, so maybe he hadn't been so crazy after all. At any rate, he'd had the same wild eyes.

Hallgrim was the youngest in the section, only eighteen years old. No one really knew why he had enlisted. Adventure, Gudbrand thought. Dale maintained that he admired Hitler, but he knew nothing about politics. Daniel thought that he had left a girl in the family way. He held the match in a cupped hand as he struck it hard against the crude matchbox. The sulphur ignited at second attempt and Edvard lit his cigarette, took a drag and passed it round without saying a word. All the men inhaled slowly and passed the cigarette on to their neighbour. No one said a word; they all seemed to have sunk into their own thoughts.

But Gudbrand knew that, like him, they were listening. They had all heard the rumours about the Russians fleeing from Leningrad across the frozen lake. What was worse, though, was that the ice also meant that General Tsjukov could get supplies into the besieged town. But Gudbrand had been hearing that ever since he had been sent there, almost a year ago, and still they were out there shooting at you as soon as you stuck your head out of the trench. Last winter the Russian deserters-who'd had enough and chose to change sides for a little food and warmth-had come over to the trenches with their hands behind their heads.

But the deserters were few and far between now, and the two hollow-eyed soldiers Gudbrand had seen coming over last week had looked at them in disbelief when they saw that the Norwegians were just as skinny as they were. Even though Sindre was a good head taller, it was obvious that he had no stomach for a fight. He probably remembered the Russian Gudbrand had killed some months ago. Who would have thought that nice, gentle Gudbrand had such ferocity in him? The Russian had sneaked unseen into their trench between two listening posts and had slaughtered all those sleeping in the two nearest bunkers, one full of Dutch soldiers and the other Australians, before he had got into their bunker.

The lice had saved them. They had lice everywhere, but particularly in warm places, such as under the arms, under the belt, around the crotch and ankles. Gudbrand, who lay nearest to the door, hadn't been able to sleep because of what they called louse sores on his legs-open sores which could be the size of a small coin, the edges of which were thick with lice feeding. Gudbrand had taken out his bayonet in a futile attempt to scrape them away when the Russian stood in the doorway to let loose with his gun.

Gudbrand had only seen his silhouette, but knew instantly it was an enemy when he saw the outline of a Mosin-Nagant rifle being raised. With just the blunt bayonet Gudbrand had sliced the Russian's neck so expertly that he was drained of blood when they carried him out into the snow afterwards. You were relieved an hour ago. Gudbrand tried to break free, but the section leader held him in a tight grip.

Edvard patted him on the shoulder. He shot a quick glance at the others, who had followed the scene in silence. They began to stamp their feet in the snow and mutter to each other. Gudbrand saw Edvard go over to Hallgrim Dale and whisper a few words in his ear. Dale listened and glowered at Gudbrand. Gudbrand knew very well what it meant. It was an order to keep an eye on him. A while ago now, someone had spread a rumour that he and Daniel were more than simply good friends.

And that they couldn't be trusted. Mosken had asked straight out if they were planning to desert together. Of course they had denied this, but Mosken probably thought now that Daniel had used the opportunity to make a run for it. And that Gudbrand would 'look for' his comrade as part of the plan to go over to the other side together. It made Gudbrand laugh. True enough, dreaming about the wonderful promise of food, warmth and women the Russian loudspeakers spewed out over the barren battlefield in ingratiating German was attractive, but to believe it?

What do you say? Gudbrand put his arms down by his sides and could feel the bayonet hanging from the belt inside his camouflage uniform. Gudbrand spun round and there, right above his head, he saw a ruddy face beneath a Russian cap smiling down at him from the edge of the trench. Then the man swung down over the edge and performed a soft Telemark landing on the ice. They've got at least fifty metres between the listening posts over there.

Are you hard of hearing or something? I'm sure they heard it on the other side. Then he jumped up on to the top edge of the trench, sat with his arms raised in the air and began to sing in a deep, warm voice: A mighty fortress is our God…'. He could bloody write as well. Well, well, but he was still a Bolshevik. He jumped down from the edge and looked around him. Total silence followed for a moment before the outburst of laughter came. Then the first of the men went over to slap him on the back. It was cold in the machine-gun post.

Gudbrand was wearing all the clothes he possessed. Nevertheless, his teeth were still chattering and he had lost the sensation in his fingers and toes. The worst was his legs. He had bound new rags around his feet, but that didn't help much. He stared out into the dark. They hadn't heard much from the Ivans that evening.

Perhaps they were celebrating New Year's Eve. Perhaps they were eating well. Lamb stew. Or ribs of lamb. Gudbrand knew, of course, that the Russians didn't have any meat, but he couldn't stop thinking about food nevertheless. As for themselves, they hadn't had much more than the usual lentil soup and bread. The bread had a green sheen to it, but they had become accustomed to that. And if it became so mouldy that it crumbled, they just boiled the soup with the bread in it. They're sitting eating medallions of venison.

With a thick, light brown game sauce and bilberries. And almond potatoes. They huddled together, keeping their heads down. Daniel was wearing the Russian cap. The steel helmet with the Waffen SS badge lay beside him. Gudbrand knew why. There was something about the shape of the helmet which caused the eternally ice-cold snow to pass under the rim and create a continual, nerve-grinding whistling sound inside the helmet, which was particularly unfortunate if you were on duty at the listening post. I can't tell the difference.

The colours seem the same. I never saw any berries, for example, when we went into the forest to pick cranberries for the Sunday joint…'. They were quiet. In the distance a machine gun chattered. The thermometer showed minus twenty-five. Last winter they'd had minus forty-five several nights in a row. Gudbrand consoled himself with the thought that the lice were less active in this cold.

He wouldn't start itching until he went off duty and crept under the woollen blanket in his bunk. But they tolerated the cold better than he did, the beasts. Once he had carried out an experiment: he had left his vest out in the snow in the biting cold for three consecutive days. When he took the vest into the bunker again, it was a sheet of ice. But when he thawed it out in front of the stove, a teeming, crawling mass came to life and he threw it into the flames out of sheer disgust.

Then Mum put two slices on each plate and poured on gravy, which was so thick that she had to take care she stirred it enough so that it didn't set. And there were loads of fresh, crisp Brussels sprouts. You should put your helmet on Daniel. What if you got shrapnel in your cap? Or brownies. That wasn't such usual fare. Mum had brought that tradition from Brooklyn.

Daniel spat in the snow. As a rule, watch was an hour during the winter, but both Sindre Fauke and Hallgrim Dale were in bed with temperatures, so Edvard Mosken had decided to increase it to two hours until the section was back to full strength. Gudbrand laughed, spat in the same place in the snow as Daniel and gazed up at the frozen stars in the sky.

Sounds from gumdrops

There was a rustling sound in the snow and Daniel raised his head. It was unbelievable, but even here, where every square metre had been bombed and mines were closer than the cobblestones in Karl Johans gate, there was animal life. Not much, but they had both seen hares and foxes. And the odd polecat. Obviously they tried to shoot whatever they saw. Everything was welcome in the pot. But after one of the Germans had been shot while he was out catching a hare, the top brass had got it into their heads that the Russians were releasing hares in front of the trenches to tempt men out into no man's land.

As if the Russians would voluntarily give away a hare! Gudbrand fingered his sore lips and looked at his watch. One hour left to the next watch. He suspected that Sindre had been shoving tobacco up his rectum to give himself a temperature; he was the sort who would do that. The small guys slog away while the rich get fatter whether it's boom time or a slump. When we win the war, Hitler's got a little surprise up his sleeve for the people.

And your father won't need to worry any more about being unemployed. You should join the Nasjonal Samling! Gudbrand didn't like to contradict Daniel so he answered with a shrug of his shoulders, but Daniel repeated the question. About not having to have Bolsheviks in the country. If they come, we'll definitely go back to America. A democracy in the hands of the wealthy, left to chance and corrupt leaders? Just look at Europe.

England and France, they were going to the dogs long before the war began: unemployment, exploitation. There are only two people strong enough to stop Europe's nosedive into chaos now: Hitler and Stalin. That's the choice we have. A sister nation or barbarians. There's almost no one at home who seems to have understood what good luck it was for us that the Germans came first and not Stalin's butchers.

Gudbrand nodded. It wasn't only what Daniel said, it was the way he said it. With such conviction. All of a sudden all hell broke loose and the sky in front of them was white with flares, the ground shook and yellow flashes were followed by brown earth and snow which seemed to launch themselves into the air where the shells fell. Gudbrand already lay at the bottom of the trench with his hands over his head, but the whole thing was over as quickly as it had begun.

He looked up and there, back behind the trench, behind the machine gun, Daniel was roaring with laughter. But Daniel paid no attention. Daniel pointed to his watch and then it dawned on Gudbrand. Daniel had obviously been waiting for the Russians' New Year salute, because now he stuck his hand down in the snow which had been piled up against the sentry post to hide the machine gun.

Help yourself. You saved it up. But don't drink it all! In spring we'll be toasting each other in the Winter Palace,' he proclaimed and took off his Russian cap. And by summer we'll be home, hailed as heroes in our beloved Norway'. He put the bottle to his lips and threw back his head. The brown liquid gurgled and danced in the neck of the bottle. It twinkled as the glass reflected the light from the sinking flares, and in the years to come Gudbrand would ponder whether it was that the Russian sniper saw: the gleam from the bottle.

The next moment Gudbrand heard a high-pitched popping noise and saw the bottle explode in Daniel's hands. There was a shower of glass and brandy and Gudbrand closed his eyes. He could feel his face was wet; it ran down his cheeks and instinctively he stuck out his tongue to catch a couple of drops. It tasted of almost nothing, just alcohol and something else-something sweet and metallic.

The consistency was thick, probably because of the cold, Gudbrand thought, and he opened his eyes again. He couldn't see Daniel from the trench. He must have dived behind the machine gun when he knew that he had been seen, Gudbrand guessed, but he could feel his heart racing. Gudbrand got to his feet and crawled out of the trench. Daniel was on his back with his cartridge belt under his head and the Russian cap over his face.

The snow was spattered with brandy and blood. Gudbrand took the cap in his hand. Daniel was staring with wide eyes up at the starry sky. He had a large, black, gaping hole in the middle of his forehead. Gudbrand still had the sweet metallic taste in his mouth and felt nauseous. It was barely a whisper between his dry lips. Gudbrand thought Daniel looked like a little boy who wanted to draw angels in the snow but had fallen asleep.

With a sob he lurched towards the siren and pulled the crank handle. As the flares sank into their hiding places, the piercing wail of the siren rose towards the heavens. Edvard and the others had come out and stood behind him. Someone shouted Gudbrand's name, but he didn't hear. He just wound the handle round and round. In the end Edvard went over and held the handle. Gudbrand let go, but didn't turn round; he remained where he was, staring at the trench and the sky as the tears froze solid on his cheeks. The lament of the siren subsided. Daniel already had ice crystals under his nose and in the corners of his eyes and mouth when they carried him away.

Often they used to leave them until they went stiff so they would be easier to carry, but Daniel was in the way of the machine gun. So two men had dragged him to a branch off the main trench where they laid him on two ammunition boxes kept for burning. Hallgrim Dale had tied sacking around his head so they didn't have to see the death mask with its ugly grin. Edvard had rung the mass grave in the Northern Sector and explained where Daniel was. They had promised to send two corpse-bearers at some point during the night. Then Mosken had ordered Sindre out of his sick bed to take the rest of the watch with Gudbrand.

The first thing they had to do was clean the spattered machine gun. They lay side by side on the edge of the trench, in the narrow hollow where they had a view over no man's land. Gudbrand didn't like being so close to Sindre. Gudbrand couldn't feel the cold; it was as if his head and body were filled with cotton and nothing bothered him any longer. All he felt was the ice-cold metal burning against his skin and the numb fingers which would not obey. He tried again. The stock and the trigger mechanism already lay on the woollen rug beside him in the snow, but it was harder undoing the final piece.

In Sennheim they had been trained to dismantle and reassemble a machine gun blindfold. Sennheim, in beautiful, warm, German Elsass. It was different when you couldn't feel what your fingers were doing. Gudbrand remembered the German Wehrmacht captain who had been so amused when Sindre said he came from a farm on the outskirts of a place called Toten. He placed the top of the little tube of gun oil against the bolt and squeezed. The cold had made the yellowish liquid thick and sluggish-he knew that oil dissolved blood. He had used gun oil when his ear had been inflamed.

He looked up and grinned, showing the brown stains between his teeth. His pale, unshaven face was so close that Gudbrand could smell the foul breath they all had here after a while. Sindre held up a finger.

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Sindre studied the tip of his finger. Otherwise he wouldn't have come back from no man's land that night. I heard you talking about going over. Well, you were certainly… good friends, you two, weren't you? Gudbrand didn't hear at first; the words were too distant. Then the echo of them reached him, and he felt the warmth surge back into his body. You should have hopped it. The Bolsheviks aren't supposed to be as brutal as Hitler to people like you and Daniel.

Such good friends, I mean. Before it was too late. Gudbrand curled his toes in his boots. As most of a user's Subversion interactions involve the use of the Subversion client and occur in the context of a working copy, we spend the majority of this book discussing the Subversion working copy and how to manipulate it. A Subversion client commits that is, communicates the changes made to any number of files and directories as a single atomic transaction. By atomic transaction, we mean simply this: either all of the changes are accepted into the repository, or none of them is.

Subversion tries to retain this atomicity in the face of program crashes, system crashes, network problems, and other users' actions. Each time the repository accepts a commit, this creates a new state of the filesystem tree, called a revision. Each revision is assigned a unique natural number, one greater than the number assigned to the previous revision. The initial revision of a freshly created repository is numbered 0 and consists of nothing but an empty root directory. Imagine an array of revision numbers, starting at 0, stretching from left to right.

Unlike most version control systems, Subversion's revision numbers apply to the entire repository tree , not individual files. Each revision number selects an entire tree, a particular state of the repository after some committed change. Another way to think about it is that revision N represents the state of the repository filesystem after the Nth commit.

Many other version control systems use per-file revision numbers, so this concept may seem unusual at first. Subversion client programs use URLs to identify versioned files and directories in Subversion repositories. For the most part, these URLs use the standard syntax, allowing for server names and port numbers to be specified as part of the URL. Because Subversion offers several different ways for its clients to communicate with its servers, the URLs used to address the repository differ subtly depending on which repository access mechanism is employed.

Subversion's handling of URLs has some notable nuances. Either of the two following URL path syntaxes will work, where X is the drive on which the repository resides:. The Subversion client will automatically encode URLs as necessary, just like a web browser does. If the URL contains spaces, be sure to place it within quotation marks at the command line so that your shell treats the whole thing as a single argument to the program. There is one notable exception to Subversion's handling of URLs which also applies to its handling of local paths in many contexts, too.

In Subversion 1. Note that this URL syntax works only when your current working directory is a working copy—the command-line client knows the repository's root URL by looking at the working copy's metadata. A Subversion working copy is an ordinary directory tree on your local system, containing a collection of files.

You can edit these files however you wish, and if they're source code files, you can compile your program from them in the usual way. Your working copy is your own private work area: Subversion will never incorporate other people's changes, nor make your own changes available to others, until you explicitly tell it to do so. You can even have multiple working copies of the same project.

If other people publish their own changes, Subversion provides you with commands to merge those changes into your working copy by reading from the repository. A working copy also contains some extra files, created and maintained by Subversion, to help it carry out these commands. In particular, each working copy contains a subdirectory named. The files in the administrative directory help Subversion recognize which of your versioned files contain unpublished changes, and which files are out of date with respect to others' work. Prior to version 1. NET Web application framework disallowing access to directories whose names begin with a dot.

Throughout this book, any reference you find to. For each file in a working directory, Subversion records among other things two essential pieces of information:. What revision your working file is based on this is called the file's working revision. Given this information, by talking to the repository, Subversion can tell which of the following four states a working file is in:. The file is unchanged in the working directory, and no changes to that file have been committed to the repository since its working revision.

An svn commit of the file will do nothing, and an svn update of the file will do nothing. The file has been changed in the working directory, and no changes to that file have been committed to the repository since you last updated. There are local changes that have not been committed to the repository; thus an svn commit of the file will succeed in publishing your changes, and an svn update of the file will do nothing.

The file has not been changed in the working directory, but it has been changed in the repository. The file should eventually be updated in order to make it current with the latest public revision. An svn commit of the file will do nothing, and an svn update of the file will fold the latest changes into your working copy. The file has been changed both in the working directory and in the repository. The file should be updated first; an svn update command will attempt to merge the public changes with the local changes.

If Subversion can't complete the merge in a plausible way automatically, it leaves it to the user to resolve the conflict. A typical Subversion repository often holds the files or source code for several projects; usually, each project is a subdirectory in the repository's filesystem tree. In this arrangement, a user's working copy will usually correspond to a particular subtree of the repository.

For example, suppose you have a repository that contains two software projects, paint and calc. To get a working copy, you must check out some subtree of the repository. The term check out may sound like it has something to do with locking or reserving resources, but it doesn't; it simply creates a working copy of the project for you. The list of letter A s in the left margin indicates that Subversion is adding a number of items to your working copy. Suppose you make changes to button. Since the. However, Subversion does not make your changes public until you explicitly tell it to.

The act of publishing your changes is more commonly known as committing or checking in changes to the repository. To publish your changes to others, you can use Subversion's svn commit command:. Now your changes to button. When you commit your change to button. To bring her project up to date, Sally can ask Subversion to update her working copy, by using the svn update command.

This will incorporate your changes into her working copy, as well as any others that have been committed since she checked it out. The output from the svn update command indicates that Subversion updated the contents of button. Note that Sally didn't need to specify which files to update; Subversion uses the information in the. As a general principle, Subversion tries to be as flexible as possible. One special kind of flexibility is the ability to have a working copy containing files and directories with a mix of different working revision numbers.

Subversion working copies do not always correspond to any single revision in the repository; they may contain files from several different revisions. For example, suppose you check out a working copy from a repository whose most recent revision is At the moment, this working directory corresponds exactly to revision 4 in the repository. However, suppose you make a change to button. Assuming no other commits have taken place, your commit will create revision 5 of the repository, and your working copy will now look like this:.

Suppose that, at this point, Sally commits a change to integer. If you use svn update to bring your working copy up to date, it will look like this:. Sally's change to integer. In this example, the text of Makefile is identical in revisions 4, 5, and 6, but Subversion will mark your working copy of Makefile with revision 6 to indicate that it is still current.

So, after you do a clean update at the top of your working copy, it will generally correspond to exactly one revision in the repository. Just because you're ready to submit new changes to the repository doesn't mean you're ready to receive changes from other people. And if you have new changes still in progress, svn update should gracefully merge repository changes into your own, rather than forcing you to publish them. The main side effect of this rule is that it means a working copy has to do extra bookkeeping to track mixed revisions as well as be tolerant of the mixture.

It's made more complicated by the fact that directories themselves are versioned. For example, suppose you have a working copy entirely at revision You edit the file foo. After the commit succeeds, many new users would expect the working copy to be entirely at revision 15, but that's not the case! Any number of changes might have happened in the repository between revisions 10 and The client knows nothing of those changes in the repository, since you haven't yet run svn update , and svn commit doesn't pull down new changes.

Therefore, the only safe thing the Subversion client can do is mark the one file— foo. The rest of the working copy remains at revision Only by running svn update can the latest changes be downloaded and the whole working copy be marked as revision The fact is, every time you run svn commit your working copy ends up with some mixture of revisions.

The things you just committed are marked as having larger working revisions than everything else. After several commits with no updates in between , your working copy will contain a whole mixture of revisions. Even if you're the only person using the repository, you will still see this phenomenon. Often, new users are completely unaware that their working copy contains mixed revisions. This can be confusing, because many client commands are sensitive to the working revision of the item they're examining. When the user invokes this command on a working copy object, he expects to see the entire history of the object.

But if the object's working revision is quite old often because svn update hasn't been run in a long time , the history of the older version of the object is shown. Perhaps you'd like to test an earlier version of a submodule contained in a subdirectory, or perhaps you'd like to figure out when a bug first came into existence in a specific file.

However you make use of mixed revisions in your working copy, there are limitations to this flexibility. First, you cannot commit the deletion of a file or directory that isn't fully up to date. If a newer version of the item exists in the repository, your attempt to delete will be rejected to prevent you from accidentally destroying changes you've not yet seen.

Second, you cannot commit a metadata change to a directory unless it's fully up to date. A directory's working revision defines a specific set of entries and properties, and thus committing a property change to an out-of-date directory may destroy properties you've not yet seen. Finally, beginning in Subversion 1. This new requirement was introduced to prevent common problems which stem from doing so.


We introduced the notions of the central repository, the client working copy, and the array of repository revision trees. We talked a bit about the way Subversion tracks and manages information in a working copy. At this point, you should have a good idea of how Subversion works in the most general sense. Armed with this knowledge, you should now be ready to move into the next chapter, which is a detailed tour of Subversion's commands and features.

When most folks use the term, though, they are referring to a whole directory tree containing files and subdirectories managed by the version control system. Theory is useful, but its application is just plain fun. Let's move now into the details of using Subversion. By the time you reach the end of this chapter, you will be able to perform all the tasks you need to use Subversion in a normal day's work.

You'll start with getting your files into Subversion, followed by an initial checkout of your code. We'll then walk you through making changes and examining those changes. You'll also see how to bring changes made by others into your working copy, examine them, and work through any conflicts that might arise. This chapter will not provide exhaustive coverage of all of Subversion's commands—rather, it's a conversational introduction to the most common Subversion tasks that you'll encounter.

Also, this chapter assumes that the reader is seeking information about how to interact in a basic fashion with an existing Subversion repository. No repository means no working copy; no working copy means not much of interest in this chapter. There are many Internet sites which offer free or inexpensive Subversion repository hosting services. But don't expect the examples in this chapter to work without the user having access to a Subversion repository. Finally, any Subversion operation that contacts the repository over a network may potentially require that the user authenticate.

For the sake of simplicity, our examples throughout this chapter avoid demonstrating and discussing authentication. Be aware that if you hope to apply the knowledge herein to an existing, real-world Subversion instance, you'll probably be forced to provide at least a username and password to the server. It goes without saying that this book exists to be a source of information and assistance for Subversion users new and old. Conveniently, though, the Subversion command-line is self-documenting, alleviating the need to grab a book off the shelf wooden, virtual, or otherwise.

The svn help command is your gateway to that built-in documentation:. Subversion will respond with the full usage message for that subcommand, including its syntax, options, and behavior:. The Subversion command-line client has numerous command modifiers. You'll find the options supported by a given svn subcommand, plus a set of options which are globally supported by all subcommands, listed near the bottom of the built-in usage message for that subcommand. Subversion's options have two distinct forms: short options are a single hyphen followed by a single letter, and long options consist of two hyphens followed by several letters and hyphens e.

Every option has at least one long format. Some, such as the --changelist option, feature an abbreviated long-format alias --cl , in this case. Only certain options—generally the most-used ones—have an additional short format. To maintain clarity in this book, we usually use the long form in code examples, but when describing options, if there's a short form, we'll provide the long form to improve clarity and the short form to make it easier to remember.

Use the form you're more comfortable with when executing your own Subversion commands. Many Unix-based distributions of Subversion include manual pages of the sort that can be invoked using the man program, but those tend to carry only pointers to other sources of real help, such as the project's website and to the website which hosts this book. Also, several companies offer Subversion help and support, too, usually via a mixture of web-based discussion forums and fee-based consulting. And of course, the Internet holds a decade's worth of Subversion-related discussions just begging to be located by your favorite search engine.

Subversion help is never too far away. You can get new files into your Subversion repository in two ways: svn import and svn add. We'll discuss svn import now and will discuss svn add later in this chapter when we review a typical day with Subversion. The svn import command is a quick way to copy an unversioned tree of files into a repository, creating intermediate directories as necessary.

You typically use this when you have an existing tree of files that you want to begin tracking in your Subversion repository. For example:. Note that you didn't have to create that new directory first— svn import does that for you. Immediately after the commit, you can see your data in the repository:.

Note that after the import is finished, the original local directory is not converted into a working copy. To begin working on that data in a versioned fashion, you still need to create a fresh working copy of that tree. Subversion provides the ultimate flexibility in terms of how you arrange your data.

Because it simply versions directories and files, and because it ascribes no particular meaning to any of those objects, you may arrange the data in your repository in any way that you choose. To counteract this confusion, we recommend that you follow a repository layout convention established long ago, in the nascency of the Subversion project itself in which a handful of strategically named Subversion repository directories convey valuable meaning about the data they hold.

So we first recommend that each project have a recognizable project root in the repository, a directory under which all of the versioned information for that project—and only that project—lives. Secondly, we suggest that each project root contain a trunk subdirectory for the main development line, a branches subdirectory in which specific branches or collections of branches will be created, and a tags subdirectory in which specific tags or collections of tags will be created.

Of course, if a repository houses only a single project, the root of the repository can serve as the project root, too. Subversion tries hard not to limit the type of data you can place under version control. There are a few places, however, where Subversion places restrictions on information it stores. Subversion internally handles certain bits of data—for example, property names, pathnames, and log messages—as UTFencoded Unicode.

This is not to say that all your interactions with Subversion must involve UTF-8, though. As a general rule, Subversion clients will gracefully and transparently handle conversions between UTF-8 and the encoding system in use on your computer, if such a conversion can meaningfully be done which is the case for most common encodings in use today.

This means that pathnames can contain only legal XML 1. Subversion also prohibits TAB , CR , and LF characters in path names to prevent paths from being broken up in diffs or in the output of commands such as svn log or svn status. While it may seem like a lot to remember, in practice these limitations are rarely a problem. As long as your locale settings are compatible with UTF-8 and you don't use control characters in path names, you should have no trouble communicating with Subversion. Most of the time, you will start using a Subversion repository by performing a checkout of your project.

Checking out a directory from a repository creates a working copy of that directory on your local machine. Unless otherwise specified, this copy contains the youngest that is, most recently created or modified versions of the directory and its children found in the Subversion repository:. Although the preceding example checks out the trunk directory, you can just as easily check out a deeper subdirectory of a repository by specifying that subdirectory's URL as the checkout URL:.

Your working copy is just like any other collection of files and directories on your system. You can edit the files inside it, rename it, even delete the entire working copy and forget about it. For example, if you want to copy or move an item in a working copy, you should use svn copy or svn move instead of the copy and move commands provided by your operating system. We'll talk more about them later in this chapter. Unless you're ready to commit the addition of a new file or directory or changes to existing ones, there's no need to further notify the Subversion server that you've done anything.

The topmost directory of a working copy—and prior to version 1. Usually, your operating system's directory listing commands won't show this subdirectory, but it is nevertheless an important directory. Whatever you do, don't delete or change anything in the administrative area! Subversion uses that directory and its contents to manage your working copy. Notice that in the previous pair of examples, Subversion chose to create a working copy in a directory named for the final component of the checkout URL. This occurs only as a convenience to the user when the checkout URL is the only bit of information provided to the svn checkout command.

Subversion's command-line client gives you additional flexibility, though, allowing you to optionally specify the local directory name that Subversion should use for the working copy it creates. If the local directory you specify doesn't yet exist, that's okay— svn checkout will create it for you. Subversion has numerous features, options, bells, and whistles, but on a day-to-day basis, odds are that you will use only a few of them.

In this section, we'll run through the most common things that you might find yourself doing with Subversion in the course of a day's work. Update your working copy. This involves the use of the svn update command. Make your changes. The most common changes that you'll make are edits to the contents of your existing files. But sometimes you need to add, remove, copy and move files and directories—the svn add , svn delete , svn copy , and svn move commands handle those sorts of structural changes within the working copy.

Review your changes. The svn status and svn diff commands are critical to reviewing the changes you've made in your working copy. Fix your mistakes. Nobody's perfect, so as you review your changes, you may spot something that's not quite right. Sometimes the easiest way to fix a mistake is start all over again from scratch.

The svn revert command restores a file or directory to its unmodified state. Resolve any conflicts merge others' changes. In the time it takes you to make and review your changes, others might have made and published changes, too. You'll want to integrate their changes into your working copy to avoid the potential out-of-dateness scenarios when you attempt to publish your own.

Again, the svn update command is the way to do this. If this results in local conflicts, you'll need to resolve those using the svn resolve command. Publish commit your changes. The svn commit command transmits your changes to the repository where, if they are accepted, they create the newest versions of all the things you modified.

Now others can see your work, too! When working on a project that is being modified via multiple working copies, you'll want to update your working copy to receive any changes committed from other working copies since your last update. These might be changes that other members of your project team have made, or they might simply be changes you've made yourself from a different computer. To protect your data, Subversion won't allow you commit new changes to out-of-date files and directories, so it's best to have the latest versions of all your project's files and directories before making new changes of your own.

Use svn update to bring your working copy into sync with the latest revision in the repository:. In this case, it appears that someone checked in modifications to both foo. When the server sends changes to your working copy via svn update , a letter code is displayed next to each item to let you know what actions Subversion performed to bring your working copy up to date. Now you can get to work and make changes in your working copy.

You can make two kinds of changes to your working copy: file changes and tree changes. You don't need to tell Subversion that you intend to change a file; just make your changes using your text editor, word processor, graphics program, or whatever tool you would normally use. Subversion automatically detects which files have been changed, and in addition, it handles binary files just as easily as it handles text files—and just as efficiently, too. Tree changes are different, and involve changes to a directory's structure.

Such changes include adding and removing files, renaming files or directories, and copying files or directories to new locations. These changes may take place immediately in your working copy, but no additions or removals will happen in the repository until you commit them. A symlink is a file that acts as a sort of transparent reference to some other object in the filesystem, allowing programs to read and write to those objects indirectly by performing operations on the symlink itself.

But that doesn't in any way limit the usability of working copies on systems such as Windows that do not support symlinks. On such systems, Subversion simply creates a regular text file whose contents are the path to which the original symlink pointed. While that file can't be used as a symlink on a Windows system, it also won't prevent Windows users from performing their other Subversion-related activities. Here is an overview of the five Subversion subcommands that you'll use most often to make tree changes:.

Use this to schedule the file, directory, or symbolic link FOO to be added to the repository. When you next commit, FOO will become a child of its parent directory. Use this to schedule the file, directory, or symbolic link FOO to be deleted from the repository. If FOO is a file or link, it is immediately deleted from your working copy. If FOO is a directory, it is not deleted, but Subversion schedules it for deletion. When you commit your changes, FOO will be entirely removed from your working copy and the repository.

When BAR is added to the repository on the next commit, its copy history is recorded as having originally come from FOO. That is, a new directory named FOO is created and scheduled for addition. Subversion does offer ways to immediately commit tree changes to the repository without an explicit commit action. In particular, specific uses of svn mkdir , svn copy , svn move , and svn delete can operate directly on repository URLs as well as on working copy paths. Of course, as previously mentioned, svn import always makes direct changes to the repository.

There are pros and cons to performing URL-based operations. One obvious advantage to doing so is speed: sometimes, checking out a working copy that you don't already have solely to perform some seemingly simple action is an overbearing cost. A disadvantage is that you are generally limited to a single, or single type of, operation at a time when operating directly on URLs. You can make sure that the changes you are about to commit make sense in the larger scope of your project before committing them.

And, of course, these staged changes can be as complex or as a simple as they need to be, yet result in but a single new revision when committed. Once you've finished making changes, you need to commit them to the repository, but before you do so, it's usually a good idea to take a look at exactly what you've changed. By examining your changes before you commit, you can compose a more accurate log message a human-readable description of the committed changes stored alongside those changes in the repository. You may also discover that you've inadvertently changed a file, and that you need to undo that change before committing.

Additionally, this is a good opportunity to review and scrutinize changes before publishing them. You can see an overview of the changes you've made by using the svn status command, and you can dig into the details of those changes by using the svn diff command. You can use the commands svn status , svn diff , and svn revert without any network access even if your repository is across the network.

This makes it easy to manage and review your changes-in-progress when you are working offline or are otherwise unable to contact your repository over the network. Subversion does this by keeping private caches of pristine, unmodified versions of each versioned file inside its working copy administrative area or prior to version 1. This allows Subversion to report—and revert—local modifications to those files without network access.

Having this cache is a tremendous benefit—even if you have a fast Internet connection, it's generally much faster to send only a file's changes rather than the whole file to the server. To get an overview of your changes, use the svn status command. You'll probably use svn status more than any other Subversion command.

Because the cvs status command's output was so noisy, and because cvs update not only performs an update, but also reports the status of your local changes, most CVS users have grown accustomed to using cvs update to report their changes. In Subversion, the update and status reporting facilities are completely separate. If you run svn status at the top of your working copy with no additional arguments, it will detect and report all file and tree changes you've made. In its default output mode, svn status prints seven columns of characters, followed by several whitespace characters, followed by a file or directory name.

Some of the most common codes that svn status displays are:. The file, directory, or symbolic link item is not under version control. The file, directory, or symbolic link item has been scheduled for addition into the repository. The file item is in a state of conflict. That is, changes received from the server during an update overlap with local changes that you have in your working copy and weren't resolved during the update.

You must resolve this conflict before committing your changes to the repository. The file, directory, or symbolic link item has been scheduled for deletion from the repository. If you pass a specific path to svn status , you get information about that item alone:. The letters in the first column mean the same as before, but the second column shows the working revision of the item.

The third and fourth columns show the revision in which the item last changed, and who changed it. None of the prior invocations to svn status contact the repository—they merely report what is known about the working copy items based on the records stored in the working copy administrative area and on the timestamps and contents of modified files. But sometimes it is useful to see which of the items in your working copy have been modified in the repository since the last time you updated your working copy. For this, svn status offers the --show-updates -u option, which contacts the repository and adds information about items that are out of date:.

Notice in the previous example the two asterisks: if you were to run svn update at this point, you would receive changes to README and trout. This tells you some very useful information—because one of those items is also one that you have locally modified the file README , you'll need to update and get the servers changes for that file before you commit, or the repository will reject your commit for being out of date.

We discuss this in more detail later. Another way to examine your changes is with the svn diff command, which displays differences in file content. When you run svn diff at the top of your working copy with no arguments, Subversion will print the changes you've made to human-readable files in your working copy. In the context of svn diff , those minus-sign- and plus-sign-prefixed lines show how the lines looked before and after your modifications, respectively.

The svn diff command produces this output by comparing your working files against its pristine text-base. Files scheduled for addition are displayed as files in which every line was added; files scheduled for deletion are displayed as if every line was removed from those files.

The output from svn diff is somehwat compatible with the patch program—more so with the svn patch subcommand introduced in Subversion 1. Because of this, you can share the changes you've made in your working copy with someone else without first committing those changes by creating a patch file from the redirected output of svn diff :. Subversion uses its internal diff engine, which produces unified diff format, by default. If you want diff output in a different format, specify an external diff program using --diff-cmd and pass any additional flags that it needs via the --extensions -x option.

For example, you might want Subversion to defer its difference calculation and display to the GNU diff program, asking that program to print local modifications made to the file foo. Suppose while viewing the output of svn diff you determine that all the changes you made to a particular file are mistakes. Maybe you shouldn't have changed the file at all, or perhaps it would be easier to make different changes starting from scratch. You could edit the file again and unmake all those changes. You could try to find a copy of how the file looked before you changed it, and then copy its contents atop your modified version.

You could attempt to apply those changes to the file again in reverse using patch -R. And there are probably other approaches you could take. Fortunately in Subversion, undoing your work and starting over from scratch doesn't require such acrobatics. Just use the svn revert command:.

This brief essay will critically examine the triple aims of the book as Leonard spelled them out in his "Foreword to the Second Edition" of to controvert an element of the Spanish "Black Legend" through an investigation of the wide diffusion of literary culture; to describe the workings of the book trade; and to explore the possible influence of tales of chivalry on the conquistadores.

In this country, as in Spain, the historiographic tendency of the s was to revise the view that Spain had been guilty of profound historical offenses—its so-called Black Legend. In reviewing the historical scholarship on Spain of the subsequent decades, Keen included Books of the Brave among those works of historical revisionism that came to Spain's defense. In this arena of elite culture, Leonard has made a considerable contribution, the lasting value of which is acknowledged by the publication of this edition, and in particular of its extraordinary documentary appendix.

The value of such documents has been underscored in the past few years by renewed study of ships' registers and bills of sale. In particular, Leonard emphasizes that the Inquisition had no jurisdiction over or interest in popular literature; moreover, he suggests, because Inquisitorial port inspections were exceedingly lax, owing to corruption, indifference, and bribery, books banned by the state managed to get through.

The notion that the Inquisition, in this situation, treaded lightly so as not to annoy powerful commercial interests is of merit. Here, evidently, we have one of the few circumstances in which the "secular arm" of the church did not fall heavily on the objects of its vigilance, though it is consistent with Inquisition practice of supporting the economic interests of the crown. In one revealing instance, Leonard showed not only that books appearing on Quiroga's "Index of Prohibited Books" of were listed for a shipment from the year , but also that the list bore the Inquisitorial inspector's signed approval p.

To such claims Leonard responds persuasively: Why would individuals who flouted laws prohibiting the exploitation of native populations obey injunctions about matters so personal as their private reading? Yet to what degree can the Inquisition be applauded for the easy flow of books into the New World? In my view, the failure of Inquisitorial authority to repress the works of popular literature merits no accolades: the ban of popular literature, namely, was an affair of the state, not of ecclesiastical or Inquisitorial authority. That is, quite apart from the Inquisition, which banned books on theological grounds and according to criteria of cultural purity, the state promulgated its own laws on the circulation of secular books.

Exactly why the royal decrees prohibited the importation of works of chivalric fantasy to the Indies is not self-evident; yet neither was there any reason for Inquisitorial inspectors to take notice of them. A word in closing in regard to Leonard's seemingly general statements that the Inquisition was in fact less cruel than previously assessed.

When he states, "the verdict of posterity on the Spanish Inquisition is harsher than the facts wholly warrant," he does so only with specific reference to "the glimpses of its operations noted in the earlier chapters of this book": in other words, the area of book censorship—popular fiction—for which the Inquisition had no jurisdiction. The greatest asset of this new edition of Books of the Brave is the first-time publication in an English volume they did appear in the Mexican edition of the documentary appendix—the book lists analyzed in chapters 13 through In Books of the Brave , Leonard's special merits as a narrative writer are apparent in the chapters devoted to the day-to-day operations of the book trade, from the processing of books at Seville's House of Trade, through transatlantic crossings and dockside Inquisitorial inspections chapters 10—12 , to the Puertobelo Fair, the overland crossing of the Isthmus of Panama, and the overland journey from Lima to Cuzco chapters 18— Andes on horseback surely contributed to the vividness of the trans-Andean account he gives in Books of the Brave.

Regarding transactions of the book trade, Leonard's greatest contribution lies in tracing what no other book-trade scholar had found: the fate of a single consignment of books which included seventy-two copies of the first edition of Don Quixote from its deposit at the House of Trade in Seville to its arrival, over a year later, at Lima. Because the facts of this scholarly case often get garbled in the retelling, it behooves us to spell out the chain of events. Leonard's discovery that two of the greatest works of Spanish literature arrived in the Spanish Indies soon after their publication effectively nullified the commonplace about the "backwardness" and cultural isolation of the ultramarine provinces of Spain.

On this score, he pointed again to pragmatic considerations, arguing that the economic interests of the book merchants prevailed over any state attempts to enforce cultural policy—assertions that subsequent research has borne out. The portion of the Books of the Brave most often remembered and cited is its hypothesis that the popular books of chivalry inspired the deeds of the conquistadores.

In itself, the idea was not new; it had appeared, as we have seen, in Prescott's History of the Conquest of Mexico as well as the works of other writers. Leonard's examination of the tale of the Amazons is his best argument for the interrelationship between legend and life. The case of the Amazons is Leonard's most compelling demonstration of the connection between the conquistadores and popular fiction; that is, what the conquistadores thought they would find was clearly conditioned by that literature.

Leonard asserts that the reading or hearing by the conquistadores of the romances of chiv-. The terms he uses are revealing, for they refer to psychological states varied enough to allow us to pursue the question of how the romances of chivalry were interpreted by men at arms in the Spanish Indies. In addition, other issues raised by Leonard, such as how widespread literacy became in the course of the sixteenth century, what groups constituted the readership of the books of chivalry and, later in the sixteenth century, the equally popular forms of the pastoral novel and the picaresque , [35] and what meanings various kinds of readers—state officials and private citizens alike—attached to these "libros de entretenimiento," are far from being resolved.

Clive Griffin and Maxime Chevalier, for example, challenge the notion that the discovery and development of printing expanded the reading public and democratized culture. As to who read the romances of chivalry, Daniel Eisenberg and Chevalier argue that the readership was elite and mostly male; the latter, in fact, concludes that the novels of chivalry held the attention of the same public of caballeros , soldiers, and educated men in the era of Philip II as during the reign of Charles V. On the perplexing questions raised by Leonard as to why fiction was considered worthy of prohibition and what its feared effects would be on readers, we can find some theoretical answers in B.

Ife's analysis of the Platonic critique of art. As interpreted by sixteenth-century Spanish writers, this critical position held that art was morally harmful and metaphysically illegitimate not because of its express content but because of its power to move, persuade, and convince. Ife's work makes explicit the theoretical principles at. Although Leonard states that the tale of Charlemagne and the Twelve Peers of France was the longest-lived and most influential chivalric story in Spanish America p. To explain the lack of references by the conquistador-chroniclers to the novels of chivalry, Leonard argues chapter 6 that self-censorship was at work: they knew that this literature was the object of censure by moralist writers and so deliberately omitted all mention of popular fiction.

In my view, however, there is no need to explain this omission. The challenge for conquistador-reporters, after all, was to convince their readers that the experiences they described were real, not invented. Nevertheless, by raising the issue of citations of chivalric romance, Leonard in a way encourages us to examine a larger issue: the role of chivalric values as a frame of reference for the conquistadores.

If they did find inspiration in the novels of chivalry, it would likely be discernible in more subtle ways. That is, while direct evidence of conquistadores' reading, much less its impact on them, is elusive, their subsequent interpretation of their deeds in relation to literary traditions is revealing. And some of our soldiers even asked whet her some of the things we saw were not a dream. It is not to be wondered at that I here write it down in this manner, for there is so much to think over that I do not know how to describe it, seeing things as we did that have never been heard of or seen before, not even dreamed about.

Although his readers were surely tired of them, he says, it was nevertheless necessary to rehearse how and when and in what manner those battles had occurred. In this aside to his readers on the problems of writing, he mentions that he had considered organizing the narration so that each encounter would occupy a separate chapter.

Or, more serious, is he saying that the reader might thus suspend belief in this true account, sentencing it to guilt by association, if it followed the narrative model of chivalric romance? Both questions can be answered in the affirmative, as the testimony of other chroniclers attests. We shall tell them in this chapter in order that those who, in the future, may read and talk about them may have a reliable author on whom to depend, an author who does not write fables, like some things we read now-a-days in books of chivalry.

Were it not for the fables of enchantments with which they are laden, there are events that have happened recently in these parts to our Spaniards in conquests and clashes with the natives that surpass, as deeds of amazement, not only the aforesaid books but even the ones written about the twelve peers of France. The phrase "fables of enchantments with which they are laden" suggests an a posteriori gloss of the fantastic onto the narration, which would prevent the reader from appreciating the historical event.

They were writing about events and topics that seemed fantastic: great numbers of battles, horrifying evidence of human sacrifice, landscapes never before seen, and even real-life. They wished to articulate that hitherto unseen dimension accurately in order to be truthful to their understanding of their own experience. Hence, they were caught in the dilemma of producing faithful accounts that would be appealing but that afforded no common points of reference for them and their readers.

Their point, however, was that fiction paled by comparison with what they witnessed, that the historical deeds and experiences they described exceeded the only possible model for comparison that existed in their readers' imaginations. On the question of the conquest in its aftermath, Leonard suggests that criollo readers were not interested in the history of the Indies, largely because no such works appeared on a list of books to be ordered by a book dealer of Lima in see Appendix, Document 3.

Recent investigations into private libraries in the vice-royalty of Peru, however, reveal that in fact New World history inspired considerable and deep interest. The church often taught native Americans the lesson of the triumph of Christianity over rival traditions by having them dramatize the Spanish defeat of the Muslims, a performance tradition that persists in Latin America still today. Finally, the attempt by Philip II from onward to control the creation and circulation of works pertaining to the Indies must be reevaluated with respect to its impact in actual practice.

One goal in bringing out Books of the Brave again is to transcend the old idea that the "steamroller of Inquisitorial censorship" prohibited creative developments. Today we can go much further in assessing the greatness of the Spanish American tradition of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, thanks to the scholarship of the past few decades.

The magnificent works produced during the viceregal period have been too long overlooked by exegetes seeking a more conventional history of belles lettres in Spanish America. The problem was not a failure in intellectual and creative endeavors during those centuries, but. As for works on Amerindian cultures, legislation did not—and could not—stop their production.

Why the novel was absent in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spanish America is a question that has entertained generations of literary scholars and commentators without notable results. In the last few years, however, theoretical developments in the discipline of textual studies have shed new light on the issue.

To demand such an art form of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spanish America, then, has been to construe its cultural history in a remarkably narrow and anachronistic fashion. In the final analysis, I would say that Irving Leonard's meditations on the relationships among life, literature, and creativity have endured precisely because of the evocative, rather than the demonstrative, character of Books of the Brave. One image recalls the beginning of the conquest period; the other, life in. Indeed, the scene evokes the remarkable constellation of cultures in the history of the Spanish viceroyaltyl, and leads us again to reconsider "colonial" creativity and interpretation.

Instead of asking why early Spanish America produced no novel, it is more productive to contemplate not absences, but presences. The Historia Verdadera thus forms part of the great cultural and intellectual legacy to which today's Latin America is heir.

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For the period of the foundations of this legacy, the work of Irving A. Leonard continues to be a landmark. To explore some of. The publication of this new edition is more than a tribute to Irving A. Leonard's achievement; it is an invitation to continue the work that he and his predecessors and contemporaries began several decades ago in the archives and libraries of Spain and Spanish America.

This is a book about books, particularly books of fiction. The chief characters of this story are not the heroes of the Spanish conquest and settlement of the sixteenth-century New World but, rather, the books which they and their descendants knew and read, the entertaining writings which fired the imaginations of these pioneers, stimulated their unparalleled achievements, amused their restless leisure, and consoled their bitter disillusionment. These printed products of creative spirits played a silent but not wholly passive part in shaping the events of the first act in the drama of Europeanizing the globe, and their participation is still an unwritten chapter in the history of that great enterprise.

In this narrative the secular works of nonfiction and instruction figure as minor characters, while the purely religious and theological literature, though dominant in that great age, is only briefly seen. This account of the share of humane letters in an epochal adventure of mankind, therefore, makes no profession of being a critical essay on Spanish letters of the period, and much less does it presume to be an intellectual history of early Hispanic America. It seeks only to focus attention upon a neglected aspect of the early diffusion of European culture in the newly discovered portions of the world, and to demonstrate the existence of a relatively free circulation of books in the former colonies of Spain, a fact hitherto obscured by prejudices and misapprehension.

In the study of modern history an often subtle interaction between literature and events in human affairs, particularly since the invention of the printing press, is not fully appreciated. Fictional writings are not only the subjective records of human experience, but sometimes the unconscious instigators of the actions of men by. Often the works of imagination that were most influential in this respect at a given time and place are not the supreme creations of genius; they are frequently inferior manifestations of artistic expression which, because of special circumstances, sway the thoughts and emotions of their readers more profoundly.

As a result, they sometimes alter the course of history or modify contemporary customs and manners. Few would claim Uncle Tom's Cabin to be a masterpiece of American letters, but few would deny it an influence all out of proportion to its esthetic merits in the thoughts and subsequent actions of the people of the United States of the middle nineteenth century.

The effect of the wide reading of the rags-to-riches tales of Horatio Alger by the youth of a generation or two ago on the economic conceptions and individualistic philosophies of older, conservative businessmen of recent years might prove a fruitful inquiry. And who can tell to what extent the dime-novel fiction of the athletic superman, Frank Merriwell, helped to bring about a shift of juvenile interest from going west to kill Indians to the tremendous enthusiasm for sports during the last four or five decades?

Such writings can hardly be termed literature, yet they had an appeal to a mass of readers of an impressionable age which, in some measure, conditioned their habits of thought and conduct. It is possible, then, that the Spanish Conquistador offers an early example of this interaction between the fictitious and the real.

His matchless courage and driving force did not spring from brawn and endurance alone; his febrile fancy had much to do in spurring him relentlessly on to unprecedented exploits. Some of the visionary passion that animated him had its inspiration in the imagined utopias, adventures, and riches alluringly depicted in the song and story of his time. The texture of dreams became corporeal in the new medium of leaden type, and these men of the Spanish Renaissance were moved to work miracles greater than those performed in the pages of their books. In the first chapters of this account an attempt is made to appraise, to understand, and to explain these men and the fiction they emulated.

This book about books of the Conquistador and his descendants strives to serve a threefold purpose: first, to explore the possible influence of a popular form of contemporary literature on the mind,. The first six chapters deal with the conqueror and the romances of chivalry that he knew, and the possible reaction of books on men is indicated particularly by the quest of the Amazons in America.

Chapters XIII to XIX are a series of case histories of individual shipments which symbolize the universal dissemination of books throughout the sixteenth-century colonial empire of Spain, including the outlying Philippines. This procedure was adopted because the surviving records in the archives of Spain and Spanish America are of such fragmentary nature that a statistical approach to the problem of book distribution is impossible.

The total number of volumes which crossed the ocean in the sixteenth century can not be determined, though it clearly ran into the thousands annually, nor can the specific titles sent in the largest quantities be identified. The names which recur often on the surviving lists may be assumed to be among the most desired, and chapter IX suggests these seeming favorites, judging by a large number of ship manifests consulted in the Archive of the Indies at Seville.

The seven chapters of case histories are based on a selection of nine representative book lists, all but one from Spanish American repositories. They range from to ; book lists before the earlier date are extremely rare and the few discovered are short and of relatively slight interest.

Of the nine, three are fairly long inventories for New Spain, dated and ; five are shorter ones for the viceroyalty of Peru, of , , and ; and one, still shorter but of considerable interest, is from the Philippines, dated Each chapter is based on one or more of these inventories and includes a historical sketch of the social and cultural life of the locality represented, together with an account of the special circumstances relating to the particular book order or shipment. Because of its exceptional value in giving insight into Mexican intellectual life at the end of the sixteenth century, the list discussed in Chapter XVI is subjected to detailed commentary on all types of literature noted in it.

As the novel enters an eclipse at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the introduction of Don Quixote into the New World is the climactic event with which the book closes. The whole question of fictional and secular books in the former Spanish colonies has long been beclouded by prejudices engendered by the so-called "Black Legend" of the obscurantism allegedly practiced by Spain in America, and by the antipathies arising from the wars of independence in the early nineteenth century.

It is not the purpose of the present work to transform the denigration of Spanish colonial policies into a "White Legend," but this account of the often denied circulation of books and ideas in viceregal Hispanic America, added to the investigations of others, may help to demonstrate that the true color of the "legend" was something like, perhaps, a light gray.

The conviction, which some historical evidence seems to support, that Spanish authorities tried to seal off the colonies from European thought by excluding all books save those of approved orthodox religion still dominates the minds of many; it is almost a dogma which even scholars hesitate to question.

By a somewhat cursory inspection of the ship manifests of the fleets sailing to America in , which he found in the Archive of the Indies at Seville, he proved the exportation of several hundred copies of presumably the first edition of the famous novel. His discovery of these registros thus opened a rich vein for research. In an important collection of documents, Libros. In the winter of — it was my good fortune to be able to carry forward the researches of Sr. I had photostatic copies made of many of these documents of the last decades of the sixteenth century and the first years of the seventeenth, and I took copious notes of many more.

In and again in these archival investigations were continued in Mexico City; also in Lima, Peru, in and , with briefer delvings into similar repositories of Chile, Argentina, and Colombia. These accumulating manuscript materials were first exploited in a short monograph, Romances of chivalry in the Spanish Indies with some registros of shipments of books to the Spanish colonies Berkeley, , which gave the fullest discussion then available of the circulation of light literature in those regions, and reproduced the first group of these curious book lists with a check list of titles.

Subsequent utilization of other documents of this character occurred in a series of articles printed in scholarly journals, chiefly from to In considerably modified form some of the latter and parts of the monograph are incorporated in the present work.

Three chapters of this landmark of cultural history are devoted to the question of the circulation of books, and they have done much to shatter the legend of Spanish obscurantism in this respect so long maintained. Torre Revello's monograph but adds a few book lists for study. This succession of important, docu-. I have a heavy debt of gratitude to acknowledge for help received from numerous institutions and individuals. Subsequent aid from this source continued these efforts in Mexico in Research funds of the University of California assisted in the acquisition of photostatic copies of registros preserved at Seville.

In the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation bestowed a fellowship enabling me to carry on my investigations in various countries of South America. The editors of the Hispanic Review, published by the University of Pennsylvania Press, and the Hispanic American Historical Review, published by the Duke University Press, have kindly given permission to reprint in modified and enlarged form several articles and book lists first published in those journals. XV, No. IX, No. XI, No. VIII, No. XXII, No.

XXIV, No. All have undergone revision in this book, varying from slight changes in text to a complete rewriting with the insertion of many new data. First claim to my gratitude among individuals is held by Guillermo Lohmann Villena, a distinguished young scholar of Peru who made my visits at the National Archive in Lima fruitful by helping me to locate colonial book lists in that repository and later by sending me copies and transcriptions of other inventories that he encountered.

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The distinguished Spanish paleographer, Dr. Millares Carlo, rendered similar service in my work in Mexico City. In the difficult and sometimes trying task of identifying the abbreviated titles of works on the colonial lists I have called upon numerous friends and colleagues, including Professors R. Spaulding and C. Kany of the University of California, and especially Dr. Otis H. Green of the University of Pennsylvania. The entire analysis of the book list contained in chapter XVI is, with slight changes in wording, entirely the work of Dr.

Green, who generously authorized its use in this book. It appeared originally in the Hispanic Review vol. IX in an article of the same title as the present chapter and under our joint names. For the benefit of their advice and for reading the drafts of some chapters I wish to thank Dr. Earl J. Hamilton of the University of Chicago, Dr. The failure to heed their counsel in some respects will account for some of the book's imperfections.

The extraordinary actions and adventures of these men, while they rival the exploits recorded in chivalric romance, have the additional interest of verity. They leave us in admiration of the bold and heroic qualities inherent in the Spanish character which led that nation to so high a pitch of power and glory, and which are still discernible in the great mass of that gallant people by those who have an opportunity of judging them rightly.

Washington Irving [1]. The cause of the killing and destroying such an infinite number of souls by the Christians [i. Of these two quotations inspired by the deeds of the Spanish conquerors in America, the second probably accords more closely with the impression held by the majority of that unnumbered throng who have been stirred by their prodigious feats. Indeed, its unflattering characterization of these sixteenth-century adventurers remains so firmly established and so pervasive as to partake of the nature of a hallowed tradition which blots out all other considerations.

Thus the Spanish conquerors are condemned forever by the evidence of a star witness, a conspicuous countryman who had seen their works. Why, therefore, examine the matter further? Why regard the Conquistador as anything better than a ruthless brigand? Yet there are good reasons, aside from the obvious special pleading of the great "Apostle of the Indians," to suggest the greater justice of the more dispassionate opinion expressed nearly three centuries later by the North American writer, Washington Irving, in the first quotation.

The Spanish Conquistador, like all other human elements before and after him, was the creature of his own age, molded and conditioned by the contemporary influences of his environment. If in retrospect he appears excessively primitive, fanatic, proud, cruel, and romantic, it is only because he reflected more conspicuously than did other Europeans of his age the dominant traits of his own time and of his Western European culture, and only in this light can he be rightly judged.


If indeed he did sin more in these various respects than his neighbors on the Continent, it was mainly because his opportunities and temptations were so much greater than theirs. But why, it may be asked, were the Hispanic peoples singled out to be the first instruments of history in the Europeanizing of the globe through the discovery, conquest, and colonizing of many of its unknown parts?

Why did Spain particularly attain a momentary greatness that enabled her to achieve a historic destiny unequaled in human experience? These questions are always likely to provoke discussion, and the answers to them are not easy to find. Periods of greatness of a people or a nation frequently arise from the conjunction of the effect of environmental factors of their own milieu and of historic movements, the latter often set in motion by distant and weaker human aggregations reacting to peculiar local conditions. The capture of Constantinople in spelled the eventual doom of the Italian city-states which, in the later Middle Ages, had grown rich in the prosperous commerce with the Near East, and this historic event emphasized the pressing need of finding other pathways of trade.

The course of the Commercial Revolution. This trend happened, also, to coincide with technical improvements in naval architecture, nautical instruments, and the like. The geographic proximity of the peninsula to the needed new routes, the great imagination, and the extraordinary energy and vitality of its peoples engendered by long residence on the edge of the Unknown and by centuries of successful warfare against the Moors were some of the environmental and inherent factors which prepared the Spaniards and the Portuguese for their mission in history.

The Conquistador, endowed with tremendous courage, powerful imagination, and religious fanaticism, and flushed with triumph by his recent victory over the Mohammedan infidel, was the appointed agent to overrun a new world and initiate the westernization of the globe.