18. Right vs. Wrong

Some readers may recall the poem, “Justice by my own hand,” written by Rosalía de Castro, the one that tells the story of a wretchedly poor woman who wreaks her own vengeance on the authorities after losing her children to starvation. She slashes them to pieces. Well, actually, the woman tells her own story. Many readers either skip over it, pretend she never wrote it, insist it’s not to be taken seriously, since it’s just a poem.

Rosalía, who is the author and knows what her intentions were, writes about her misgivings in her journal: Will people understand my reason for writing this poem or will they think it too extreme? What will the Quakers think? She is concerned that her correspondents in the States will not respond well to the violence, even if she as author understands what the woman does.

She is doing the wrong thing for the right reason, some say. Maybe Rosalía comprehends the reticence, maybe not. She wants to ensure the continued communication with the American writers, so she considers sending the introduction to the book in which “A xustiza pola man” was published: Follas Novas (1880). She asks the writers to consider the context of the poem and points out that the focus of Follas Novas is different:

… n’este meu novo libro, preferin, âs composicions que puderan decirse personales, aquelas outras que, con mais ou menos acerto, espresan as tribulaciós d’os que, uns tras outros, e de distintos modos, vin durante largo tempo, sofrir ô meu arredore. E ¡sófrese tanto n’esta querida terra gallega! Libros enteiros poideran escribirse falando d’o eterno infortunio que afrixe os nosos aldeans e mariñeiros, soya e verdadeira xente d’o traballo n’o noso pais.

[… in this new book of mine, I preferred, over compositions that might be thought very personal in nature, the other sort, that more or less accurately express the tribulations of those around me who, in different ways, I watched suffer. And there’s so much suffering in this beloved Galician land! Entire books could be written talking about the endless misfortune afflicting our villagers and sailors, the true, forgotten people who labor in our country.] [Translation by K. March]

Vin e sentin as suas penas como si fosen miñas, mais o que me conmoveu sempre, e po-lo tanto non podia deixar de ter un eco n’a miña poesía, foron as innumerables coitas d’as nosas mulleres: criaturas amantes para os seus y os estraños, cheas de sentimento, tan esforzadas de corpo, como brandas de corazon e tamen tan desdichadas que se dixeran nadas solasmentes para rexer cantas fatigas poidan afrixir, a parte mais froxa e inxel d’a humanidade.

[I saw and felt their suffering as if it were my own, but what always moved me and for that reason had to have an echo in my poetry, were the countless sorrows of our women: creatures who love their families as well as strangers, full of emotion, both strong of body and soft of heart and also so unfortunate that they’ve been seen as born to put up with as much weariness as they’re given, the weakest and simplest] members of humanity.

N’o campo compartindo mitade por mitade c’os seus homes as rudas faenas, n’a casa soportando valerosamente as ansias d’a maternidade, os traballos domesticos e as arideces d’a probeza. Soyas o mais d’o tempo, tendo que traballar de sol á sol, e sin axuda pra mal manterse, pra manter os seus fillos, e quisais o pai valetudinario, parecen condenadas á non atoparen nunca reposo se non n’a tomba.

[In the fields working side by side with men in the hard chores, in the house, bravely bearing the anguish of motherhood, domestic chores, and the dry desert of poverty. Alone most of the time, having to work from sun up to sun down, and with no help to get food, raise their children, and perhaps their sickly father, they seem unable to ever fund respite, unless it’s in the grave.]

Rosalía is uncertain if the more mournful approach to the poverty in Galicia is going to be more effective, if it’ll lead her readers overseas to ask more questions. Which way is right? Is it wrong to go to the extreme of murder?

Lavinia Rivers, who some here recall is not a literary critic, but who knows how to organize gender history as librarian and gender studies professor - well, ex-professor now - reads the entries on this topic and thinks about how to present it. She can research and cite statistics for emigration, poverty, infant mortality, other aspects of Galician society in the mid-nineteenth century. That’s one thing.

She can also consider María Pita and other Galician and Portuguese women who fought against injustice. Lavinia provides a context like Rosalía did in her introduction and she can utilize gender theory although how is not yet clear to her. Why is she doing this work on the well-known and much-loved Rosalía now?

For one thing, Lavinia - as explained in an earlier episode - is the person who found the journal, and she recognizes its value. She begins to think of publishing it through a Galician institution, or maybe doing a series of articles in journals for gender studies, or Iberian history, or... She would love the text to be available in two languages. Her mind races, there are so many possibilities. Then she stops.

She is doing the wrong thing for the right reason. It’s the wrong thing because essentially she’s trying to revert to her previous role as faculty member, which included analyzing certain types of data and educating people. It’s the wrong thing in this case, because she’s drifting away from the new life she’s been trying to create in Galicia, in Santiago. She needs to change if she doesn’t want history to repeat itself.

What is the real reason she cannot control her thoughts as she takes up the idea of a Rosalía who still brings readers into her heart. Simply put, Lavinia is drawn to the writer and curious as to how she emerged in the time and place that she did. That doesn’t sound academic or professional, but she doesn’t know how to define the path she seeks. Not yet, anyway.

Lavinia thinks it’s ironic that Rosalía lived near A Escravitude and wants to see if it’s mentioned in a poem. Then she decides that’s not as relevant as the extent of misery suffered by the Galician people and that the geographical references for the most part can wait.

Now it is my turn to consider how I should proceed. As translator, I think of how the poem in English becomes removed from the Galician context and ask whether I should move it closer to the reader or closer to the author as in theory put forth by Schleiermacher around 1813 and reworked by L. Venuti. How can I give voice to Rosalía’s poor women?

For readers of the English versions I’ve attempted, I should try to think of a comparison. My mind goes to the time of slavery for a parallel, there it is! Rosalía in “Justice by my own hand” can easily be writing a poem about the equivalent of slavery in Galicia. Yes, of course. Because no male partner is mentioned for the speaker in the poem, we can only see the act as woman’s rebellion against the shackles of poverty. Many would understand slave uprisings and instinct to kill masters; why not the same for a woman in Galicia? This corresponds exactly to issues of gender and race as justification for oppression. It also corresponds to the writing being done by women for abolitionist groups.

Maybe I should just translate and leave the rest to Lavinia?

No, I can’t limit my role to that, because as editor or literary critic or a person who reads works that address social inequality and injustice, I want to stress the international links in pretty much everything Rosalía wrote. She couldn’t know the novels that would be written, like Toni Morrison’s Beloved from 1987. So sad that in Morrison’s work, the character has to turn on a child and not the oppressors. Rosalía’s poem redefines justice from ‘outsider’ perspective that is reminiscent of Erdrich’s native justice in The Round House, from 2013. Indigenous justice around the world differs from many so-called laws.

I have a few notes to look into, like Rosalía’s novel Flavio, which includes the suicide of a servant who has a child after being seduced by the main male character.

Like the desolation in the poem that reminds me of the desolation of Mara, also imprisoned by society on the rules it sets for women.

Or poor Marquita, who tries to commit suicide in a cemetery. Or elderly Doña Isabel, who lives her poverty with utmost dignity?

And why does man go mad in Rosalía’s novel El primer loco [The First Madman]. He has lost his Beatriz, lost control of her, lost her as muse (cf. Dante) Emasculated, he loses his mind? A lot of questions still to be answered about this work, the definition of insanity, things like that. Like what is the definition of justice?

Those should give you an idea of where I’m going with this, which is: the connection to American writers surely left its mark on Rosalia, gave her courage to write the novels. She knew she wasn’t alone.

As a writer of fiction and occasional poetry, I ought to explain, for those who might not have been aware, that Lavinia, Dr. Lavinia Rivers. With training in library science and gender studies, has many stories of her own, dozens of them. I created her, the North American academic in Santiago de Compostela, but can guarantee you she is not autobiographical. She’s pure fiction, although still she wove - not wormed - her way into Rosalía’s biofiction.

Now that I think about it, including Lavinia is part my role here. I need to trust her instinct and let her discover Rosalía as she wishes. And that’s what I’m doing. I also think I’m meant to be the teller of the story of a life that could have been lived, that might not be fiction after all.

My final question for you is: Do you remember the episode where Lavinia leaves Rosalía’s journal and some of her own notes at my house? I was surprised, but never got to explain how it happened, whether I figured it out or someone told me. You might be interested in how, and I’ll gladly explain. Perhaps this thought somebody posted on the internet will help:

Thirty years from now, I’d love to pick up a history book and learn that for decades, a Secret Society of Librarians has been operating in the shadows, preserving the truth of the nation, subverting attempts at erasure, and surreptitiously arming people with banned books.

Librarians are an integral and often overlooked wellspring of knowledge and power.

Librarians. That says it all.