6. Never Assume Anything (2/2)

Rosalía’s Journal

I’m not sorry for writing to those women now. That’s because every writer I’ve sent a letter to has responded. Maybe being bold has its advantages.

I never expected that would happen, though. Not in a million years. To tell the truth, I didn’t expect any answers at all. After all, an unknown ‘daughter of a single mother’ - not my concern, but the Church seems to care - would have to be mad to send such letters to well-known women in another country. Who cares about inquiries from a complete unknown? What could possibly justify such boldness? They all could have responded in that manner, brushing off my request. They likewise could have ignored my letters, but they didn’t.

Three! I’ve received three responses, and I immediately replied to all of them. My fingers shook so, it’s a wonder I didn’t make blotches all along the paper. I got the best paper I could find and could afford. It wasn’t the greatest quality, but I did what I could to look presentable.

First to reply was FANNY FERN, when I asked her for thoughts on my poem and included the two English translations I’ve been offered. I still need to study her reply and make sure I got the English right, but I’ve already decided to send her another set of my poems. Maybe I could include some bits of prose, like a story and a chapter of a novel… But should I wait? What is the protocol in correspondence of a literary nature?

Second to answer was HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, whose importance as an author made me too afraid to even think of approaching her until Fanny Fern insisted I should. It turned both writers wanted me to learn about the Grimké sisters, which was strange. I’d never heard about them, but they don’t really write poetry or fiction. Stowe made it clear that my focus on women of different classes would be of great interest to them. There isn’t much attention on rural women in Spain, so this was a new idea for me. I’ve certainly. Suffered from being categorized as a ‘regional’ writer, with regional meaning rural and primitive. We all know what primitive means: not worth much. Voiceless.

This affects my choice of Galician or Spanish in my writing. It is hard to know. There is almost nothing in Galician, hasn’t been for centuries. Do I have to write in Spanish to be accepted in the literary field?

Third to respond were the GRIMKÉ SISTERS. Having developed a strong abolitionist focumindset, they moved north from their home state, where slavery was and is the norm. They have written pamphlets and have contacts in Europe. (I need to find out about these.) They are well-known through the New England Lecture Circuit and are well-respected. 

I’m so pleased the Grimkés found times to write to me. One of the poems I sent them is “A xustiza pola man,” or ‘Justice by my Own Hand’. It must have caught their eye, and maybe others from the group “Viuvas dos vivos” [Widows of the Living] did too. I’m going to see which of the two English versions they sent me is my preference. Maybe they know of a place to publish it. That would be too much to hope. For.

Now I’m thinking they might not have been very pleased with my “San Antonio bendito” [Blessed Saint Anthony], because in the poem the woman seems to want a man, any man, even if he beats her. They must have understood my double entendre, though:

San Antonio bendito,

Dádeme un home,

Anque me mate,

Anque m' esfole.

Blessed Saint Anthony,

Grant me a man,

Even if he kills me,

Even if he beats me.

Meu Santo San Antonio,

Daime un homiño,

Anqu'ó tamaño teña

D'un gran de millo.

Daimo, meu Santo,

Anqu'os pés teña coxos,

Mancos os brazos

My saintly Saint Anthony,

Grant me just a little man,

Even one the size

Of a kernel of corn.

Give me one, my Saint,

Although his feet be twisted

And his arms be mangled

The Grimkés are well aware of why a woman might pray to have a man in her life. I too am quite aware, and won’t detail that now, as it should be obvious.

The Grimkés sent me their own translations, which again I never expected. How would people in America know Galician? I will ask them how they did it in my next letter, but will be careful not to sound like I’m suspicious of how they managed to do it. Did each sister do one, or did they get help from someone?

Now I’m wondering about writing to other women in that country. I want to see if I can find an address for Maria Susanna Cummins and also one for Susan Warner. There must be so many I’ve never heard of or read… ohhh, I almost forgot Emily Dickinson.

………………………………………….

Lavinia thought about what she had just read, what it meant for how transatlantic communication worked. She’d never imagined how intense it must have been, yet long before Ruth Matilda Anderson there were many women travelers. The researcher simply had never expected the contacts to been so intense, so active, in the nineteenth century and beyond. Now that she knew, however, she could look into that further, while hoping that her own status as independent researcher, not as an academic, wouldn’t keep her from being taken seriously.

There was just one thing that rang false about the diary; the reference to Emily Dickinson would have been impossible, since her poetry wasn’t made public until her death, in 1886. Rosalía died in 1885. She couldn’t have known of Dickinson, unless she’d had access to the ten poems published by the author from Amherst during her lifetime.

She also wanted to know if Rosalía’s letters had been preserved. Consulting the papers of these women, plus others not yet identified could be a daunting task. The distances between research libraries were considerable and Lavinia had no salary or grants to fund her now since she’d renounced her position at a US university. Still, she wondered about another thing: Did any of the translations appear in publications in the States? The task seemed more and more overwhelming. 

What had seemed like such good fortune when Lavinia had discovered and was given the journals had now become a nightmare. She had to risk showing the papers to someone else, because her resources were limited.

…………………………………….

This is where I come in, because I came across the journals along with Lavinia’s personal reflections, in my home. I haven’t solved that mystery yet, but will, eventually.

My approach to this extraordinary information is that I was struck by the threes. Lavinia doesn’t seem to notice them, but I noticed Rosalía had a list of three contacts. (Four women). It’s probably stretching a point, but I can’t help thinking of three witches, and the Shakespearian trio. Has ties to mythology, the Parcae, the three Fates, the three stages of a woman’s life, Morgan and Morrigan. Damsel, mother, lover. Young, mature, aged. Three in one or three separate. Warrior goddess in some (Celtic) cultures.  

Rosalía could have chosen one or many to write to, but she chose three sources (four women) as her base. 

I am just as interested as Dr. Lavinia Rivers in finding more out about Rosalía de Castro’s transatlantic connections, but my objective is slightly different, I think. Lavinia’s plan is to document the facts as she can ascertain them about Rosalía as a nineteenth century writer whose life and writing were long assumed to be of a much lesser stature, a smaller sphere of influence than she had or deserved. My desire is to use both Rosalia’s and Lavinia’s work to create the best historical yet fictional work I can. In part I suppose I am the novelist whose name has something in common with Morgan’s, but I also cannot refrain from occasionally translating some of the poems, trying to get as close to the author as possible. 

I didn’t expect that to happen, when the papers came into my possession. I don’t know what to expect next, either. I just know that I see three sets of eyes now on how to portray the extent of international contact of Rosalía de Castro during her lifetime. Three of us to tell the story. Three to take it beyond what each of us are writing. Three, or perhaps four, if I must serve as both translator of poetry and creator of fiction. 

I should apologize for taking up so much space.