Dos Rip van Winkle gallegos

Se nos pasa el tiempo tontamente, como a Rip van Winkle, o a los Siete Durmientes de Éfeso, en estas dos leyendas gallegas recogidas en Esmorgantes, de Amparo Nieto y Jorge-Víctor Sueiro:

—Hay dos historias muy parecidas, la de San Amaro y la de San Ero —dijo Pablo—, y de ese estilo se cuentan tembién en otras partes fuera de Galicia. El argumento es de una ingenuidad y de una belleza desconocidas, por eso debió prender tan bien en la mente popular. La historia de San Amaro podríamos insertarla dentro del alma gallega en el momento en el que después de recorrer otros mundos y conocer otras gentes en busca de nuestro particular Paraíso, sin encontrarlo, naturalmente, retornamos a nuestra tierra original y comenzamos a buscarlo aquí, rastreando a través de los caminos más recónditos. —La perorata de tío Pablo empezaba a aburrir a la chiquillería que, de momento, no protestaba—. A todos, quizá, nos gustaría que nos ocurriese lo que al bueno de San Amaro, quien, viniendo de lejanos países, en busca, también, del Paraíso, pasó por penas y calamidades sin cuento; recorrió sierras y valles, países remotos, cruzó desiertos y conoció el hambre y la sed y, después de tanto esfuerzo, ya de regreso, enrolado de marmitón en un pesquero de Camariñas, una anochecida gloriosa, cuando volvían a puerto cargados de besugos y fanecas, pulpos y caballas, cantando y riendo por el éxito de la jornada de pesca, Amaro, sentado en uno de los pocos rincones libres que dejaba la carga de peces y moluscos, se quedó adormilado. Entre los celajes que el sol iba poniendo en unas nubes tiernas en su dorada caída por poniente, Amaro percibió que había llegado la hora de su triufo, y que en medio de aquella bucólica felicidad de un día tan colmado de alegrías, estaba apareciendo el tan ansiado Paraíso. Lo era, en efecto, pero curiosamente no acababa de verlo bien. Sí, observaba estar en un país maravilloso, desconocido, en el que la belleza, el sosiego y la felicidad lo dominaban todo, pero sólo lo podía ver a través de un pequeño agujero... Se conformó, claro está, que para eso era gallego, y le sacó todo el partido posible a aquella maravilla que, al fin, había conseguido. De pronto, Amaro comprobó que alguien lo echaba del Paraíso, o más bien, que le habían tapado el único agujero por el que lo veía. "Vaya por Dios —debió de pensar—, pouco dura a felicidade na casa do probe..." Y se despertó. La sorpresa fue mayúscula al comprobar que el barco en el que estaba no era el suyo, que Camariñas, en vez de aquella aldeíta marinera que él conocía, era un pueblo grande y que todas las gentes que estaban a su alrededor le eran perfectamente desconocidas... Había estado nada menos que trescientos años contemplando el Paraíso a través de una rendija... Por cierto que a este San Amaro en vez de festejarlo en Camariñas lo hacen en Castro Caldelas, un pueblo de Orense. Allí hay una ermita en su honor en la que celebran una curiosa fiesta todos los años el 15 de enero: la prueba de los chorizos nuevos... No podía ser una conmemoración sin esmorga... —rió al final Pablo.

 

—Y lo de San Ero es parecido —comentó Esther—. Esta historia está localizada en el monasterio de Armenteira en la provincia de Pontevedra y todos los años se festeja al santiño Ero. Según parece, Ero, que era monje de aquel monasterio, había ido al bosque para rezar en la soledad de su espesura y se distrajo con el canto de un jilguero.  Cuando regresó al convento, todo era distinto a lo dejado, nadie conocía a aquel anciano de barba blanca que le arrastraba por el suelo. Ero de Armenteira había estado también trescientos años extasiado escuchando el delicado trino de un pajarillo... 

Beatriz iba adivinando que en las horas en las horas en las que sus parientes contaban Galicia, ellos mismos parecían reencontrarse con su propio país. Observaba cómo personas de relevante nivel cultural conmemoraban hechos y sucedidos, dándoles verosimilitud y credibilidad, como si realmente se tratase de hechos contrastados. En el fondo empezó a darse cuenta de que nada de esto importaba, porque por definición, el mundo mágico no tiene fronteras ni esquemas fijos, ni racionalidad; es como es; pero, además, para las historias gallegas y sus fantasías existía un fortísimo amarre a la viva realidad de cada persona o de cada momento. Las cosas les pasaban a individuos del entorno o a uno mismo... Beatriz, por sus ancestros galaicos, se edaba cuenta de que encontraba bastante natural todo, y que ella misma quería atisbar un poco a través de la mirilla de ese cendal flotante galaico, porque no dejaría de satisfacerle estar también trescientos años ensimismada con historias, leyendas, fantasía y magia... Según las teorías de Pablo, trescientos años no son tantos; se pueden pasar en dieciocho o veinte... Porque en esas historias posiblemente estaría algún pedacito de nuestro Paraíso perdido.

 

(Esmorgantes, Austral, 106-7)

 

—oOo—

 

 

Public Fêtes of Granada

PUBLIC FÊTES OF GRANADA

(From Washington Irving's 'Tales of the Alhambra')

As we wended our way back to the Alhambra, Mateo was in high glee and garrulous vein. "Ah, Señor," exclaimed he, "There is no place in all the world like Granada for grand ceremonies ('funciones grandes'); a man need spend nothing on pleasure here, it is all furnished him gratis." Pero, el día de la Toma, Ah, Señor, el día de la Toma! "But the day of the Taking! ah, Señor, the day of the Taking!" —that was the great day which crowned Mateo's notions of perfect felicity. The Día de la Toma, I found, was the anniversary of the capture or taking possession of Granada by the army of Ferdinand and Isabella.

On that day, according to Mateo, the whole city is abandoned to revelry. The great alarmbell on the watch-tower of the Alhambra ('la Torre de la vela') sens forth its clanging peals from morn till night; the sound pervades the thosle Vega, and echoes along the mountains, summoning the peasantry from far and near to the festivities of the metropolis. 'Happy the damsel,' says Mateo, 'who can get a chance to ring that bell; it is a charm to insure a husband within the Year." 

Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown open to the public. Its halls and courts, where the Moorish monarchs once held sway, resound with the guitar and castanet, and gay groups, in the fanciful dresses of Andalusia, perform their traditional dances inherited from the Moors. 

A grand procession, emblematic of the taking possession of the city, moves though the principal streets. The banner of Ferdinand and Isabella, that precious relic of the Conquest, is brought forth from its depository, and borne in triumph by the Alférez Mayor, or grand standardbearer. The portable camp altar, carried about with the sovereigns in all their campaigns, is transported into the chapel royal of the cathedral, and placed before their sepulchre, where their effigies lie in monumental marble. High mass is then performed in memory of the Conquest; and at a certain part of the ceremony the Alférez Mayor puts on his hat, and waves the standard above the tomb of the conquerors.

A more whimsical memorial of the Conquest is exhibited in the evening at the theatre. A popular drama is performed, entitled AVE MARIA, turning on a famous achievement of Hernando dl Pulgar, surnamed 'el de las Hazañas" (he of the exploits), a madcap warrior, the favorite hero of the populace of Granada. During the time of the siege, the young Moorish and Spanish cavaliers vied with each other in extravagant bravadoes. On one occasion this Hernando del Pulgar, at the head of a handful of followers, made a dash into Granada in the dead of the night, nailed the inscription of AVE MARIA with his dagger to the gate of the principal mosque, a token of having consecrated it to the Virgin, and effected his retreat in safety. (Note: See a more detailed account of the exploit in the chronicle of the 'Conquest of Granada'). 

While the Moorish cavaliers admired this daring exploit, they felt bound to resent it. On the following day, therefore, Tarfé, one of the stoutest among them, paraded in front of the Christian army, dragging the tablet bearing the sacred incription AVE MARIA, at his horse's tail. The cause of the Virgin was eagerly vindicated by Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew the Moor in single combat, and elevated the tablet in devotion and triumph at the end of his lance.

The drama founded on this exploit is prodigiously popular with the common people. Although it has been acted out time out of mind, ite never fails to draw ccrowds, who become completely lost in the delusions of the scene. When their favorite Pulgar strides about with many a mouthy speech, in the very midst of the Moorish capital, he is cheered with enthusiastic bravos; and when he nails the tablet to the door of the mosque, the theatre absolutely shakes with the thunders of applause. On the other hand, the unlucky actors who figure in the part of the Moors, have to bear the brunt of popular indignation; which at time equals that of the Hero of Lamanche, at the puppet-show of Gines de Passamonte; for, when the infidel Tarfé plucks down the tablet to tie it to his horse's tail, some of the audience rise in fury, and are ready to jump upon the stage to revenge this insult to the Virgin.

By the way, the actual linear descendant of Hernando del Pulgar was the Marquis de Salar. Ats the legitimate representative of that madcap hero, and in commemoration and reward of this hero's exploit above mentioned, he inherited the right to enter the cathedral on certain occasions, on horseback; to sit within the choir, and to put on his hat at the elevation of the host, though these privileges were often and obstinately contested by the clergy. I met him occasionally in society; he was young, of agreable appearance and manners, with bright black eyes, in which appeared to lurk some of the fire of his ancestors. Among the paintings in the Bibarrambla, on the fête of Corpus Christi, were some depicting, in vivid style, the exploits of the family hero. An old gray-headed servant of the Pulgars shed tears on beholding them, and hurried home to inform the marquis.  The eager zeal and enthusiasm of the old domestic only provoked a light laugh from his young master; whereupon, turning to the brother of the marquis, with that freedom allowed in Spain to old family servants, "Come, Señor," cried he, "you are more considerate than your brother; come and see your ancestor in all his glory!"

In emulation of this great Día de la Toma of Granada, almost every village and petty town of the mountains has its own annniversay, comemorating, with rustic pomp and uncouth ceremonial, its deliverance from the Moorish yoke. On these occasions, according to Mateo, a kind of resurrection takes place of ancient armor and weapons; great two-handed swords, ponderous arquebuses with matchlocks, and other warlike relics, treasured up from generation to generation, since the time of the Conquest; and happy the comunity that possesses some old piece of ordnance, peradventure  one of the identical lombards used by the conquerors; it is kept thundering along the mountains all day long, provided the community can afford sufficient expenditure of powder.

In the course of the day a kind of warlike drama is enacted. Some of the populace parade the streets, fitted on with the old armor, as champons of the faith. Others appear dressed up as Moorish warriors. A tent is pitched in the public square, inclosing an altar with an image of the Virgin. The Christian warriors approach to perform their devotions; the infidels surround the tent to prevent their entrance; a mock fight ensues; the combatants sometimes forget that they are merely playing a part, and dry blows of grievous weight are apt to be exchanged. The contest, however, invariably terminate in favor of the good cause. The Moors are defeated and taken priisoners. The image of the Virgin, rescued from thraldom, is elevated in triumph; a grand procession succeeds, in which the conquerors figure with great applause and vainglory; while their captives are led in chains, to the evident delight and edification of the spectators. 

These celebrations are heavy drains on the treasuries of these petty communities, and have sometimes to be suspended for want of funds; but, when times grow better, or sufficient money has been hoarded for the purpose, they are resumed with new zeal and prodigality.

—oOo—