The Devil on the Road Home

"Landscape with the Temptation of Christ," Pieter Bruegel the Elder; mid-18th century

Yesterday's post described the tumultuous public life of Antônio José da Silva, "The Jew," and offered a brief overview of his artistic production. This post will be dedicated to one of his works in particular: Obras do diabinho da mão furada, which can be roughly translated as: Tales of the devil with the pierced hand. Other versions of this story have surfaced in alternate re-copyings of the original manuscript under the title Obras do fradinho da mão furada which replaces the word "devil" with the word "friar."

Published in the early part of the 18th century, a time in which the Inquisition retained a strong and widespread presence throughout the Iberian peninsula and its colonies, da Silva's portrayal of the devil disguised as a friar both in the story and in the story's title was potentially quite risky -- especially given his already-tenuous relationship with the Holy Office. However, the devil dressed in a friar's robes was not without its precedent in Europe by the time da Silva wrote his tale.

In the German tradition, for instance, plays and pamphlets about Bruder Rausch ("Friar Rush") enjoyed several centuries of success. First appearing in the high middle ages, the story of this demonic trickster in holy garb was reworked and retold throughout Germany from the 15th-19th centuries, including a contribution from Stuttgart native, Wilhelm Hertz, who published a novel-length tale based on the Friar Rush lore in 1882.

Although it is difficult to say if these German tales were retold in Portugal, the devil-disguised-as-friar motif was undoubtedly widespread in Europe since as early as the 15th century. Manuscript marginalia produced by monastic scribes of the medieval period made healthy use of the motif. In her book on humor in the middle ages, Valarie Allen has written about a recurring image of a wolf in Dutch marginalia: a wolf in friar's robes preaching to a flock of sheep.

Da Silva's devil-disguised-as-friar narrative, in spite of these possible influences, is truly unique thanks to the devil's supporting lead character. André Peralta is a broke and weary soldier, trying to make his home to Lisbon after almost a decade of continuous battle in Flanders. The story opens in the midst of a terrible nighttime storm; Perlata is on the road, still far from Lisbon, and desperately he seeks some kind of refuge from the tempest.

"Soldiers in landscape," Pieter Bruegel the Younger; 16th century

Before long, he comes upon what appeared to be an unoccupied house. After warming himself by a fire and consuming the last of his food provisions, he drifts off to sleep, only to be awakened at midnight. Standing before him is a hideous old man, dressed as a friar, with cloven feet.

After only a few minutes of conversation, Peralta figures out who his new companion is, and he is appropriately wary and guarded, trying at the same time not to anger the "friar" nor coalesce with his plans entirely. During their first conversation, the devil tells Peralta that he will accompany him on the rest of his journey home. Peralta quickly declines this offer, whereupon the devil makes the rain pour inside the house, as a warning.

The devil explains that because Peralta has chosen to take refuge the devil's own house, he must show the devil some respect. The devil adds, however, that he feels compelled by some "causa secreta" ("secret cause") to help the poor soldier through to the end of his journey. This is a fairly transparent threat: the "secret cause" that inspires the devil to "help" Peralta is most likely the same impulse the devil has to meddle in anyone's life -- he wants to stir up mischief, hopefully leading to Peralta's downfall, and the devil will not be denied.

Without any other recourse, Peralta agrees, but makes it clear that he has made several promises to God that he will not break, considering the fact that it was God who helped him survive the hideous, endless battles. The pact is sealed. 

From here, a series of fantastical encounters unfold along way home, each one affecting Peralta more and more. The first night, the devil hosts a meeting of witches where he praises them for having sucked the lifeblood from unbaptized children. The next night, Peralta has a Dantesque dream (which may be also understood as "reality") in which his devil companion leads him through Hell.  

Unlike Dante's vision of Hell, there is no hierarchical organization -- things are quite chaotic and there is a lot of running around. Instead of orderly levels that descend into ultimate evil, Peralta seems to be making his way through a series of rooms or caves that have no particular order, a vision of Hell that recalls Spaniard Francisco de Quevedo's early 17th-century Sueños.

Many of the condemned quarrel with their demonic tortures, requesting an audience with Satan himself, arguing that their punishment should be forgiven because their sins helped the cause of Hell. After a while, Peralta approaches the most graphically and painfully tortured residents of Hell, those who do not even try to grapple with their torturers. These poor souls, the devil informs him, are those who in life "judged others" and "interfered with religion" -- an overt allusion to the Inquisition. 

I would argue, too, that an implicit critique of the Inquisition lies in the general chaotic nature of Hell itself. The self-righteous arguing of the condemned with their torturers, the requests to "see the boss," as if they'd be able to reach a deal if only they could talk to someone in charge -- all of these actions seem very, very like the way people (especially powerful people) interacted with the secular bureaucracy of the time. 

"A peasant brawl," Lucas Vorsterman I, circa 1620

When Peralta wakes up from this dream, the two continue their journey. Along the way, the soldier witnesses the way in which the devil sows mischief and anger everywhere he goes. He repeatedly insights townspeople to "jurar," or "swear," with popular expressions of exasperation: "Devil may take it," or "Devil take you!" As people utter these curses, the devil collects what has been commended to him. These scenes are more funny than cautionary, full of scatological and sexual anecdotes, along with a favorite source of humor during the day, a woman's wrath. 

In another folio, the devil shows Peralta a vision in a river that depicts palaces of the 7 deadly sins, personified allegorically as women, inviting sinners into their dwellings. The soldier is almost trapped permanently in this vision by Greed, who does not want to let him go. Her silent bodyguard, Midas, approaches Peralta with fingers outstretched, attempting to turn him into gold so his master can keep him forever. 

"The Allegory of Greed," Pieter Bruegel the Younger, early 16th century

What makes this scene particularly interesting, aside from the fact that da Silva has mixed medieval judeo-christian allegory with Greek mythology, is that in the first folio the devil helped Peralta dig up a forgotten chest of gold. Peralta sowed the coins into his clothes, so that the devil could not take them back. In a way, then, Peralta's physical person is already covered in "bedeviled" gold. This gold eventually serves to help Peralta escape his companion, when Peralta offers it all to a traveling priest's monastery if Peralta is allowed to take the cloth there.

In the end, Peralta succeeds in tricking the devil. He sneaks off one morning while the devil is settling a score with some boatmen (the devil had it in for the boatmen because he heard local people swearing that lot was worse than the devil, replacing their popular curses with "Boatman make take you!"). Peralta enters the monastery, thereby commending his own soul to God and the devil's gold to the service of Good. This ending reveals Peralta to be a more picaresque character than he initially appeared. The devil continues to wander in his friar's robes, recalling another classic trope, the Wandering Jew, as he travels from town to town, never settling, alway meddling.

I find this story fascinating not only because of the political risks it takes but also its mastery of popular style, humor and wisdom. Da Silva deftly interweaves a complex Good and a complex Bad, refusing paradoxically to allow the archetypal characters to occupy 2-dimensional roles. His idiosyncratic portrayal Hell and even the allegorical figures demonstrates his intense creativity and the high literary merit of his writing. Although his life was short, his writing has become immortal and echoes da Silva's criticisms, jokes... and ultimately, his deepest fears.

***
What are your favorite tales about the devil or other tricksters? How are they outwitted?

Until next time -- keep rustling!

Antônio José da Silva

One of the books on my Five For Fourteen list was the early 18th-century story attributed to Antônio José da Silva, "The Jew." The book, Obras do diabinho da mão furada (roughly: "Tales of the Devil with the Pierced Hand") is made up of a series of 5 folios written in dialogue-laden prose, interspersed with rhymed verse and popular refrains. The integration of these techniques gives rise to a text that maintains a comedic tone while simultaneously delivering a didactic narrative, full of popular wisdom. In fact, almost all of da Silva's work (the majority of which is theatrical) is considered part of the joco-séria genre (literally: "jocular-serious"). Like his writing, da Silva himself represented a fascinating combination of seemingly disparate phenomena: he was, in a way, both Brazilian and Portuguese, Christian and Jewish, Lawyer and Literati, Celebrity and Villain. This post will hopefully offer a very brief history of da Silva's life, by way of a broad overview of his artistic production.

Devil puppet, made for the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos' theater
production of one of da Silva's plays (Source) 

It is not entirely surprising that several of the characters in Obras are heard using epigrams in Spanish, rather than Portuguese. This could simply be a symptom of the ongoing cultural and linguistic exchange between Hispanic and Lusophone communities of the peninsula. But beyond casual interaction of neighboring cultures, I think it is possible to understand the pan-iberian linguistic references as evidence of da Silva's efforts to establish a cultural critique that extended beyond Portugal's borders. 

Antônio José da Silva, "The Jew"

By including refrains of both Portuguese and Spanish (and Brazilian?) origin, da Silva reinforces the "universality" of the devil, a character who can trick in any language. Thus it becomes possible through this devil character to appraise a broader set of cultural features in western Europe and colonial American, chief among being the Inquisition. The use of multicultural epigrams critiquing the Holy Office are da Silva's attempt to align his criticism with what appears to be more "universal" grievances among Europeans and colonial subjects. When taking into consideration some of the more salient biographical details of Antônio José da Silva, this critique, and the techniques he uses in his writing, acquire even more significance.  

In 1705, Antônio José da Silva was born--not in Portugal--but in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. During this time, Portuguese cultural, legal and theological institutions represented an enormously influential element of Brazilian society. (Brazil was officially a colony of Portugal until 1822, when it became an equal member of the Portuguese United Kingdom; Brazil remained a monarchy until 1889.) As a result of this influence, the Inquisition was capable of extraditing Brazilian residents back to Portugal to be tried for any allegations against them. 

Puppets of Teresa (left) and Sancho (right) Pança - from the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos' theater production of da Silva's play about Quixote (Source)  

Antônio José da Silva’s parents were unlucky enough to have experienced first-hand the far-reaching legal jurisdiction of the Portuguese Holy Office. When da Silva was a mere seven years old, his "converso" family (newly converted to Christianity) was required to travel back to Lisbon where they were brought before the Inquisition for allegations of heretical “Judaizing.” These proceedings resulted in a conviction and punishment, which most likely consisted of having goods and property seized by the State. This sudden lack of resources led the family to settle permanently in Lisbon, where da Silva came of age and eventually died. 

Dom Quixote puppet, created by the
Teatro Nacional de São Carlos
(Source)

Da Silva's writing career began -- and quickly reached its apogee -- while he was completing his studies in law in his 20s. During this time, he began publishing theatrical works that included musical elements and which he called "óperas." These pieces were performed by puppets, rather than actors, in the Teatro do Bairro Alto. 

"The puppets used at the time, made of cork and wood," writes Argentinian researcher and stage director, Jacobo Kaufman, "were relatively tall, about one and a half meters in stature, hanging and manipulated on wires." The puppets were a key element of da Silva's theatrical productions, Kaufman says, because they were "allowed to use foul language and say things an actor or singer would not dare utter on stage." The use of puppets, therefore, provided a presumably safe distance from which da Silva could lambast the rich and powerful -- although this strategy did not always work, as evidenced by the fact that "The Jew" became da Silva's nickname after a lifetime of being persecuted by Inquisitors. Eventually, in fact, the Holy Office condemned Antônio José da Silva to a public death in an auto-da-fe when the young intellectual was only 34 years old. 

Da Silva had hoped that the use of puppets would successfully create a safe distance between the author and his critiques. And although that was ultimately not the case, it seems logical that the main character in Obras do diabinho da mão furada is the devil. The familiar trope of the devil can function in a way similar to the way the puppets function in da Silva's theater -- as a bulwark between the author and his chosen subject matter. The devil is, by his very nature, expected to refer to taboo subjects -- he is the father of bad behavior.

In this story, the devil does not disappoint, as he journeys alongside a hapless traveler, wreaking havoc on small Portuguese towns...and of course, getting all the most memorable lines!

***
Tomorrow's post will feature an in-depth discussion of the book that you won't want to miss!

Until then - keep rustling!

Five For Fourteen

I am really looking forward to a new year of books! Here is a list of five books I'm especially excited to read in 2014...

5. The Baker Who Pretended to be King of Portugal by Ruth MacKay

I purchased this book in hardcover during this past semester and have looked longingly at its beautiful cover ever since. In the whir and swirl of the semester, I didn't have time to devote to pleasure reading, but now that I do, I'm happily and hungrily delving into this treat.

Ruth MacKay is a phenomenal historical writer. Last year I stumbled across her book Lazy Improvident People: Myth and Reality in the Writing of Spanish History and was delighted by her highly readable account of Spanish early modern work culture. She explored the perception of Spanish work/labor culture from both within Spain and among other European countries by consulting economic records and essays on the nature of work from the day.

In this book, she tells the story of a foiled attempt to convince the Portuguese people that their deceased--and heirless--monarch had returned from the grave to continue governing Portugal as a sovereign land. In the late 1500s, Sebastian "O Desejado" ("the Desired One") took the throne in his adolescence; he was "desired" because he was the last in a line of legitimate pretenders to the throne and stymied the consolidation of power under the Spanish crown, allowing Portugal to remain independent. But the 15-year-old king marched himself, and the majority of the country's young male nobles, into an unnecessary re-conquering battle in northern Africa, where he and almost all his companions met their end.

The throne of Portugal was vacated, with no legitimate successor, and thus was born sebastianismo, the belief that Sebastian was simply hiding or sleeping and would come back to Portugal's shores one misty morning to take up his crown once more... Though this was utterly untrue, the belief took a strong hold, especially because Portugal was forced to be governed by the Spanish crown thereafter for a period of about 60 years. BUT ANYWAY... This book details one of the most successful attempts to give the sebastianistas exactly what they were seeking: the returned king.

From the book's inside flap: "In one of the most famous of European impostors, Gabriel de Espinosa, an ex-soldier and baker by trade ... appeared in a Spanish convent town passing himself off as the lost monarch. The principals, along with a large cast of nuns, monks, and servants, were confined and questioned for nearly a year as a crew of judges tried to unravel the story, but the culprits when to their deaths with many questions left unanswered." SO EXCITED!

4. Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare by Stephen Greenblatt

Here is a literary criticism classic that I have shamefully not yet read. But it is not just shame that inspires me to read this volume-- it is also genuine interest in the central idea of the text.

Put simply: what is identity and how was it created during the Renaissance? Greenbalt's exploration of this topic was responsible for revolutionizing the way early modern texts and their authors were researched (see: new historicism).

From the book's back-cover: "[this book] is a study of sixteenth-century life and literature that spawned a new era of scholarly inquiry. Greenblatt examines that structure of selfhood as evidenced in major literary figures of the English Renaissance--More, Tyndale, Wyatt, Marlowe and Shakespeare--and finds that in the early modern period new questions surrounding the nature of identity heavily influenced the literature of the era."

Wild guess here: this book will be a challenging but rewarding read.


3. Brazil Imagined: 1500 to the present by Darlene J. Sadlier

A panoramic look at diverse modes of cultural production in Brazil throughout the centuries? YES, PLEASE.

In this book, Darlene Sadlier writes about a range of artistic production (such as literature, visual art, architecture, media, historiography, letters) in order to trace major themes in individual (and epochal) identity formation. Beginning with the arrival of Portuguese settlers in the year 1500, Sadlier marks the evolution of the imagined Brazil--from both within and without its borders.

From the back-cover: "Topics include the oscillating themes of Edenic and cannibal encounters, Dutch representations of Brazil, regal constructs, the literary imaginary, Modernist utopias, "good neighbor" protocols, and filmmakers' revolutionary and dystopian images of Brazil."

I'm expecting to get a lot of new reading material out of this one!


2. Obras do diabinho da mão furada attributed to Antônio José da Silva, "the Jew"

The title of this fictional work from the 1700s can be roughly translated as "The Little Pierced-Handed Devil." So far, I know very little about the work, but I've begun to learn about its author (I started on the introduction last night!)

Apparently, Antônio José da Silva "the Jew" was born in 1705 in Brazil. His family had converted to christianity before leaving Portugal--but they were extradited by the Holy Office to be tried as heretics and "Judaizers." His family was convicted and fined, which left them with too few resources to return to Brazil.

They settled in Lisbon, where Antônio studied law and began publishing plays and other writings. These writings were seething critiques of lisboeta society--and of christianity--of the early 18th century. At the age of 34, Antônio José da Silva was again brought before inquisitors, tried because of his writings, and sentenced to death by hanging and the public burning of his corpse.

This story is said to draw extensively from local folklore, combining Portuguese mythical creatures with the general narrative arc of the "Faust" stories (immortalized definitively in Goethe's tragic play). I haven't found an English translation of the book, so I promise to report back and let you know all the details!

1. Grande sertão: veredas by Guimarães Rosa

In the early 60s, this book was translated into English under the title The Devil to Pay in the Backlands. And it breaks my heart to report that it has since gone out of print, meaning that if you'd like a copy, you should be prepared to spend around $300. Ouch. Well, crack out that library card, because I am certain that any trouble you go through to get this book between your hot little hands will be worth it...

As I understand it, the central story is narrated by its main character, Riobaldo, a bandit traveling through the Brazilian backlands. To an (unknown?) listener, Riobaldo relates his strange and at times terrifying encounters in the desert. The Devil, it seems almost needless to say, will play a main role in this novel.

It is another classic that I am ashamed to admit I haven't read yet... but my shame is greatly overcome by my excitement to begin reading this immortal story. {Also, update: just found this blog dedicated solely to this novel!}

Oh, and by the way- check out these amazing photographs of the author, Guimarães Rosa...How ahead of his time was he?! A true pioneer of public cat obsession, in the pre-Internet era!

***
What are you most looking forward to reading in 2014? What authors do you think we should look out for? What's on your nightstand right now??

Until next time-- keep rustling!

Faint Rustlings

Coffee and Vitamin C for fall mornings

My petticoats have been silent for a month! You must've begun thinking that I got too carried away with the apocalypse theme of the last post... But I'm back, and ready to begin rustling the crinolines of literature and art once more.

Colorado has been changing colors these days, going from green and gray to bright fiery reds, oranges and yellows. I will have to get out and take some photographs of all the beautiful leaves before we get a heavy snow (we've already had several light snows!). As a result of the changing weather, mornings have been filled with cozy sweaters, muted light, and the satisfying crunch of leaves under boots. I really love this time of year; it's great reading weather.

A short stack of reading materials and a devil sculpture made by my husband, Emiliano Lake-Herrera 

Recently, my dissertation theme has begun to take shape... a very recognizable shape, as a matter of fact, complete with pointy tail and horns. I have decided to investigate the figure of the devil in Brazilian literature, most likely as expressed through the poetry chapbooks, Literatura de Cordel. Now that I have a general direction in which to go with my research, I've happily begun shirking all other responsibilities in order to read broadly about the idea of the devil and the idea of Brazil...

                       

The devil is often portrayed not as a towering black beast, but as a man. In fact, he is so like man that characters often mistake him for a simple stranger initially (in contrast, if an angel were to appear in a narrative, there is no mistaking their presence and their divine importance). So the devil appears not as an external push towards sin or wrongdoing through fear or coercion, but rather he seems to work more like a magnet, drawing out our trickster qualities when he is near. And the human characters' task is to out trick him-- we must be more clever, better liars, and as sneaky as possible in our dealings with him (human characters must out-devil the devil!).

I am really excited to be working on this project and have already read some amazing things, including an ethnography on Candomblé (an African spiritous religion) and I should really do a whole post on that book alone! So much rustling to do, my friends...

 In the meantime, I'm just happy to be back on the blog. I hope you have all been doing well and finding good things to read. What has been on your bookshelves recently? What has been rustling your petticoats???

My most faithful reading companion, on the job, on a chilly morning

Until next time-- keep rustling!

Pursuing a Flaming Ideal

Antonio Conselheiro {Anthony the Councelor} 

Still from film about Antonio Conselheiro. Image Source

This summer, I read Euclides da Cunha's Os sertões, (you can find it translated by Samuel Putnam as Rebellion in the Backlands). Da Cunha's goal was to provide a chronicle of the messianic uprising that occurred around the same time the country transitioned to a Republic. What he ended up creating was a cultural artifact that chronicled the astonishment of educated Brazilians as they witnessed a clash of incredible proportions take place in the backlands between the political zeal of the new Republican army and the religious fervor of the dispossessed.

The War of Canudos was fought between the Brazilian army and a settlement of backlanders who, in their extreme poverty, fervently heeded the words of a man in a blue tunic whom they referred to as the Counselor. They were repeatedly attacked by the giant and well-supplied army until the entire messianic movement, down to the last man, was eventually wiped out.

Political cartoon from a contemporary Brazilian periodical, depicting Antonio Conselheiro in the process of "halting" the Republic, anthropomorphized as a beautiful woman. Source

The book is divided into two sections; the first section is dedicated to the author's fascinating discourse on both Brazilian identity and the natural world Brazilians inhabit. As a geographer, da Cunha was able to draw from his technical knowledge of the land in order to lend an air of authority to his sweeping observations about mankind and specifically the men of Brazil. In fact, the elán of his prose achieves great literary beauty in his chapter humbly titled, "Man." In this chapter, he offers an elaborate (and sometimes-compassionate) portrait of the Brazilian spirit and its various manifestations. Although rife with deterministic claims relating to the racial heritage of his countrymen, it is possible to nevertheless appreciate the lofty project he embarks upon here; he is attempting to define Brazilianness in the immediate aftermath of the country's transition from monarchy to republic, in a way creating the Brazilian republic's ex nihilo.

The second half of the book is his account of the War of Canudos, the uprising in the Brazilian backlands inspired by the messianic figure Antonio Conselheiro ("Anthony the Councelor"). 

Still from the film, "Guerra de Canudos" 

The latter part of the 19th century bore witness a series of drastic changes in Brazil: the 1870s saw a huge increase in immigrants from Europe, slavery was abolished in 1888, and the Brazilian Republic was declared in 1889 with the ouster its final monarch, Dom Pedro II. Draught and famine spread through the backlands, claiming the lives of almost two million people. Many of the survivors lived in abject poverty, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, burdened by the racial and social dynamics of a lawless system in which a handful of landowners controlled the entire region. The people of this geographic area were faced with what looked, quite literally, like the coming of the end of the world.  

Antonio Maciel ("Conselheiro" was a name given to him by the people, although he never referred to himself as the Counselor) was ultimately a man who devoted himself to a life of poverty, building churches and encouraging religious devotion everywhere he went. The Catholic clergymen of the backlands, disobedient to the orders of their urban-dwelling superiors, allowed and even helped Conselheiro, as his work rebuilt and renovated the church buildings that had been forgotten by church administrators. Conselheiro urged people to participate in sacraments, to leave any possessions they had to the church, and to go with him to found an egalitarian settlement. 

Canudos settlement, photo by Flávio de Barros

Many followed him deep into the remote corners of the backlands to Canudos. There, they established their settlement and, ever true to his mission, Conselheiro built a church and allowed people to build humble mud huts and devote themselves fully to prayer and serving one another. As word of this settlement spread to Brazilian urban centers, however, the new republic decided to educate these uncivilized backland dwellers by casually murdering their leader. 

Thus, the region surrounding Canudos was suddenly been intruded upon, challenged by a brand new, untested government, and advanced upon by legions of well-equipped military men in what promised to be a violent erasure of their way of life. But the promise of both temporal and eternal salvation (the egalitarian "utopia" of Canudos and the soon-to-arrive utopia of Heaven) had already been galvanized in the hearts of Canudos' residents. A desperate swell of solidarity, unity, and messianic spirit engulfed the people of the arid and remotest parts of the sertão and solidified their determination to rid themselves of the mantle of unjust law. Ultimately, the people of Canudos' strongest weapon became their faith; an undying desire to see the heavens open up and from them descend God's avenging angels inspired them to suffer through famine, thirst, constant bombardment for over 10 months, and much, much bloody death. 

The series of battles fought between the residents of Canudos and the well-equipped Brazilian Republican army stained the scrub of the desert backlands, dyed streams red, dotted the landscape with dismembered corpses, and struck terror into those who heard about it. Euclides da Cunha recorded that every night, after a horrific day of fighting, with the smell of gunpowder and canon fodder still heavily hanging in the hot air, the Ave Maria could be heard, sung by the weak voices of Canudos residents who gathered nightly for Mass, no matter how imminent their deaths or their defeat became. Soldiers told of ghost-like warriors that shot at them from within the very hills; others claimed to have seen them rise from the dead to continue fighting.

The people of Canudos fought very literally down to the last man-- in the end, a group of four men stood around an open grave they themselves had dug, shooting at the advancing army of thousands of men, until each one of them fell dead into the pit.

The ruins of the church built by Antonio Conselheiro and his followers in Canudos. Photo by Flávio de Barros

Many had clung to the hope that Antonio Conselheiro (who died several days before the end of the last battle) was visiting with God in Heaven and that he would soon return with armies of avenging angels to defeat their foe. He did not return, however, and Canudos was utterly destroyed.

The people had been waiting for the apocalypse, and essentially got one. As they prayed for the coming of divine armies that would subject Man to judgement-- punishment for the republican army and exaltation for Antonio Conselheiro's downtrodden followers-- they were almost entirely wiped out, with the exception of about 100 women, children, and elderly who turned themselves over to the army on the final day of fighting. Many of those refugees were never seen again; Da Cunha suggests they were secretly executed by the army. Children were taken home by soldiers as trophies-- Euclides da Cunha himself brought back a child from Canudos and had a friend of his raise the child to adulthood. 

Refugees from Canudos, photo by Flávio de Barros

Throughout his account, da Cunha seems to be trying to understand why these people didn't flee when they saw the legions of the state marching on their settlement. Through the heavy loss of life and the dark days filled with smoke and blood, the people clung to their dust mud huts and refused to relinquish their claim to the land and their worship. Da Cunha repeatedly expresses his uncomprehending horror, asking himself and his reader again and again why they did not retreat, flee to the caatigas when they had the chance. There is almost a pleading in his narrative, as if he wanted to yell out to the Canudos settlement "save yourselves! run away! turn yourselves in and be spared!"

By the end of his account, however, he seems to reluctantly concede that the inherent power of a messianic movement promising a complete and total departure from the earthly suffering the people of Canudos had been enduring was an infinitely vaster and more urgent motive than the mission of the army (which was, essentially, to discipline and "civilize" the "rough-edged" backlanders by getting them on board with the new republican plan for progress). Though the price of resistance was to be high, it was to be paid willingly by all those who intended to witness the final day of judgement from their mud hut.

In spite of the many details that Euclides da Cunha must've imagined or simply invented (such as the inner thoughts and fears of soldiers and jagunços), the reader picks up on one key element of his narrative: there is a deep sense of regret and helplessness that overtakes our narrator, a dumbfounded witness to one of his country's most notorious armed conflicts. Da Cunha was a lettered man who believed wholeheartedly in Brazil's transition to a republic, he supported the new government, but he openly and repeatedly displays his disgust for this brute display of force, mockingly describing the many fumbles and the infinite excesses of the army. (It was thought that the army later plotted da Cunha's assassination, but the official account of his death is that he was shot by his wife's lover.)

In one of the book's final chapters, da Cunha describes the aftermath of the conflict-- he takes his reader through the ruined streets of Canudos, strewn with bodies and the few possessions of the people who used to inhabit it. Scraps of Conselheiro's sermons, preserved in verse form, had been carefully stashed in the mud huts along with coconut-shell rosaries and crudely made icons. Among the debris of this demolished movement, it seems that for a moment, sorrow completely overtakes da Cunha's scientific tone and causes him to doubt all his hopes for the republic, for his modern and "civilized society." As he beholds the depressingly humble remnants of Canudos and rhetorically asks what the purpose of such destruction had been, the reader can almost see his eyes, turned skyward, searching the infuriatingly indifferent sky for some kind of explanation...

What did it matter that they had six thousand rifles and six thousand sabers; of what avail were the blows from twelve thousand arms, the tread of twelve thousand military boots, their six thousand revolvers and twenty cannon, their thousands upon thousands of grenades and shrapnel shells; of what avail were the executions and the conflagrations, the hunger and the thirst which they had inflicted upon the enemy; what had they achieved by ten months of fighting and one hundred days of incessant cannonading; of what profit to them were the heaps of ruins, that picture no pen could portray of the demolished churches, or finally, that clutter of broken images, fallen altars, shattered saints--and all this beneath a bright and tranquil sky which seemingly was quite unconcerned with it all, as they pursued their flaming ideal of absolutely extinguishing a form of religious belief that was deeply rooted and which brought consolation to their fellow-beings? 
(From Samuel Putnam's translation of Os sertões by Euclides da Cunha.)

The only known photograph of Antonio Maciel, taken postmortem (army officials had him disinterred) by Flávio de Barros. Source

The Dying Dog Leaves a Will and The Cat Shits Money

Ariano Suassuna

You guys. I think I'm in love. 

This is Ariano Suassuna, a living playwright from João Pessoa, Paraíba in Brazil. So far, I've only read one little thing he's written, but I'm pretty sure this is the beginning of a longterm love-affair with his writing. 

Yesterday I read his 1955 play, Auto da Compadecida (you can find an English translation by Dillwyn Ratcliff under the title The Rogue's Trial). With an intelligent and biting wit, this play riffs on fantastical literatura de cordel stories, Molière-esque humor, baroque auto sacramentales, the vernacular Catholicism of Brazil's northeast, and of course, hilarious scatological jokes (see: the title of this post). 

The plot is driven primarily by the actions of a poverty-stricken trickster named João Grilo (which means John Cricket). As he tries to improve his lot in life with the help of his only friend, Chicó, he deliberately creates confusion and chaos in order to extract money from the wealthier residents of his small northeastern town. He does this by successfully predicting the sinful ways of the other characters-- the lustfulness and greed of the baker's wife, the sloth of the baker, the greed of the sacristan, the pride of the parish priest and the bishop, and the murderous violence of the superstitious bandit, Severino. 

Cordel-inspired image of the play

The play opens with a scene in which João and Chicó are trying to figure out a way to convince the parish priest to bless the baker's wife's dog, who is near death. Through a series of amusing lies, João actually succeeds in getting the priest to bless the baker's wife's dog (and even get it buried in sacred ground with a Mass recited for it in Latin). João also creates a Last Will and Testament for the dog, setting himself up as one of the recipients of its financial bequest ("what a remarkable animal! such noble intentions!"). As the lusty baker's wife grieves her dead dog, João succeeds in selling her a cat who, he claims, shits money (the cat does a little demonstration of this special talent, shitting out a couple of coins that João and Chicó have shoved up the poor feline's ass). 

This first act establishes the picaresque lengths João is willing to go to in order to get a little money and get back at his former employers, the baker and his wife. It also demonstrates that João is the only character smart enough to create confusion and to straighten confusion out. This contrasts with his friend Chicó, who although he is constantly telling tall tales of fantastical adventures he claims to have had (in the style of fantastical literature de cordel), he is never clever enough to remember all the twists and turns in his story. When João points out an inconsistency in the story, Chicó always ends up concluding: "Não sei! Só sei que foi assim." ("I don't know! I just know that's how it was.") 

Another cordel-inspired image of the play

There are two major turning points in the play. The first major one comes when Severino, the bandit, and his righthand henchman, summarily execute all of the characters except João and Chicó, thanks to João's clever trickery. The lie João tells Severino succeeds in getting himself and Chicó spared, but only for a moment until the lie is discovered and João, Severino, and Severino's henchman all end up dead. 

The second major turning point immediately follows their deaths. All the murdered characters find themselves at their last judgement: Satan on one side sporting the leather outfit of the backlander bandit; and Jesus on the other side, an affable black man with a great sense of humor. As Satan levies charges against each one of the characters, they tremble and try to prepare themselves for an eternity in hell. But João, after having bungled everything up, is the only one able to un-bungle their mortal predicament. To do this, he calls on the Virgin Mary to intercede and act as their "defense lawyer." Mary's mercy knows no limit, and she gently defends the group of sorry souls against Satan's accusations. 

Still from the 2000 film adaptation of the play

This final act in which God the Judge decides the fate of all the play's characters reminded me a bit of Pedro Calderón de la Barca's 17th century allegorical auto sacramental called El gran teatro del mundo. The key difference between Calderón's drama and Suassuna's is the presence of humor in the latter. The audience laughs as the souls squirm during their judgement because João's irrepressible sense of humor continues even after death. And God Himself partakes in jokes-- it is only Satan who wishes to be serious, which makes him even more loathsome, monotonous, predictable.  

Furthermore, the intercession of Mary allows for "wiggle room" and negotiation in the souls' final judgement, which in turn allows for Jesus and Mary to outwit Satan and steal back the wayward souls he desperately tries to make his. Mary takes advantage of her position as defender to out-trick-the-trickster while she simultaneously rescues him from Satan's grasp, teaching João a lesson for having created so much chaos. 

But she does this with great sympathy; the mother of God not only has mercy, but also fun. Here we can begin to perceive a parallel between the divine elements of the play and the profane ones: Sinfulness--among mortals and in Satan himself--is predicable and boring. Humor and wit--among João, Chicó and Mary and Jesus--are surprising and edifying. A smart jokester (in this case João, not Chicó, who is a little dimwitted) is humble and adaptable to any situation, responding to his surroundings with a pun or a quip, thus saving himself in both worldly and heavenly realms. The pompous attitude of the self-important men-of-position are not able to interpret their circumstances quickly enough to respond effectively--they are too caught up in their own self-image, thus leading to a troublesome and dull life and afterlife. 

All of these elements of Suassuna's play come from popular tales of the northeastern oral tradition. "The obsequies of the Dog" and "The Cash-Evacuating Horse" are both anonymous popular folk ballads from the region, while the intercession of Mary is based on a popular folk play called O castigo da soberba. The result of this amalgamation of folk tales, humor, and wisdom is a play that calls attention to the human condition, its hypocrisy and its ability to redeem itself through humor. Dillwyn Ratcliff has said that Suassuna's satire "is forthright and emphatic but not bitter ..." In precious few pages, Suassuna has united a vast array of popular opinion and wit, much in the manner of the old playwrights of the commedia dell'arte. 

How do I know this...? "I don't know! I just know that's how it was..." 

Chicó, in a still from the 2000 film adaptation, reciting his characteristic line: "I don't know! I just know that's how it was." 

I highly recommend you get your hands on this play. You can expect some more reviews here on the blog of Suassuna's work in the near future, too! If you are interested in checking out the film adaptation of this play, the entire thing is available on youtube here, however there are no English subtitles on this version (you may have to purchase it to get subtitles). 

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Have you read any plays recently?? Who are your favorite tricksters?? How important do you think humor is (in matters both sacred and profane)??

Until next time, fair petticoat rustlers! Keep rustling!!

Bulls, Drums, and a Triangle

Dancing and screaming, they bring the bull back to life...

The brief time I spent in Maranhão was packed full of incredible cultural festivals. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was lucky enough to be there during the junina festivals. From the word junho, meaning "June," the festivals unsurprisingly span the entire month of June every year, as there are such a high concentration of saints' feast days within this one month. The festivities kick-off with the feast of São João (St. John the Baptist) and continue until St. Martial's feast day on the last day of the month.

The tradition of performing bumba meu boi coincides with the junina festivals and, in Maranhão, those performances are more popular and anticipated than carnival celebrations in February. In this northeastern state, there are schools for bumba meu boi-- like there are schools for samba/carnival-- that bring together communities to make costumes, write songs, and choreograph dances. I got the chance to see several different schools perform (there are multiple performances every single night in June in every different neighborhood). There were no two schools who expressed the bumba meu boi tradition in the same way; each school had a unique interpretation of this centuries-old cultural practice. 

The basic story stays the same throughout all the performances, however, and is the story of Pai Francisco and his wife, Mai Catirina. Pai Francisco is a slave working on a large hacienda. His very pregnant wife Catirina decides that she wants to eat the tongue of the hacienda's most prized bull. She cajoles and nags and finally convinces Pai Francisco to kill the precious bull so that she can eat his tongue. When the patron of the hacienda discovers that Pai Francisco has killed his favorite bull, he threatens to kill him...unless he can somehow bring the bull back to life. Pai Francisco implores an indigenous tribe ("indios") living nearby to help him by using their magic medicine to revive the bull. They come to his assistance, dancing in elaborate patterns around the bull until he comes magically back to life and joins in the dance.

Pai Francisco always carries a machete as he dances, and Mai Catirina is often (though not always) played by a man in pregnant drag. The rhythm and melody to which this dance is performed is provided by a huge section of people either behind or to the side of the dancers, the majority of them playing matracas (wooden blocks hit together) and large, handheld drums. The lyrics of the songs are written by the singers of each school, and so they tend to reflect current relevant events (my favorite song lyric was "Foi no instagrã que te conheci..." which means, "I met you on Instagram...").

Towards the end of June and the junina festivities, St. Peter's feast day is celebrated, which is a big deal in the state of Maranhão and especially on the island of São Luís, as St. Peter is the patron saint of fisherman. The celebration for this feast day is special, and in fact goes all night. The event is referred to as the encontro dos bois (the meeting of the bulls) in which all of the bumba meu boi schools from all around the state make a pilgrimage to St. Peter's small chapel in São Luís. The chapel sits at the top of a steep hill looking out over the ocean. It's roof is made of sails, stretching out towards the sea, appearing as if at any moment it would sail off, through the sky, down into the sea.

St. Peter in his boat

The open basket sits at the foot of St. Peter's statue and is where people could drop off offerings such as the ex voto arms pictured here. The basket frequently filled up throughout the night and a volunteer would store the offerings in a back room and replace the basket, ready once more to be filled. 

Hundreds of bulls and their musicians and their Pai Franciscos and their Mai Catirinas and their "indian" dancers arrive throughout the night and into the morning. They begin by dancing and singing at the foot of the hill, where large stages have been set up. Slowly, each school makes their way up the hundreds of steps towards the chapel, where they dance and sing for the statue of St. Peter, who has been placed in a small boat filled with flowers.

Community members from the surrounding neighborhoods, as well as from the farthest corners of the state, make the pilgrimage. They come to make petitions to the saint in the form of ex votos, they come to fulfill promises (such as dancing all night) as thanks for miracles in their lives that they attribute to the saint, and some even come to shake their fists in anger, shouting at the saint and berating him for not having granted some petition.

Many come, many dance, many weep - from the sheer intensity of the tremendous sound of throbbing drums pulsing through the small chapel, the fervency of the prayer, the neverendingness of the night, the elbow-to-elbow crowds dancing there in the extreme heat of an island two degrees off the equator.

Sunrise from the heights of the ship-like chapel. 

From inside the chapel, I saw the sun rise over the ocean. At about 10:30am, four men hoisted the statue of St. Peter in his boat on their shoulders, and slowly made their way down the harrowingly steep stairs. When they reached the street, they loaded the saint onto the top of a big truck which carried him to the shore, where he was placed on a boat, to continue the procession in the water.

Here is a video I made of one of the bumba meu boi performances I saw and the encontro dos bois: 

While this event was, without a doubt, the culminating experience of my time there, I was fortunate enough to witness other smaller cultural traditions as well. In São Luís' historic city center, many bumba meu boi performances were celebrated in the streets, alongside music and dance traditions such as tambor crioula and forrô. One could simply walk around that neighborhood, find something delicious to eat at a small stand, purchase a cocktail or a beer from another small stand, and discover a different live music performance waiting for them around almost every corner.

The tambor crioula was beautiful to watch. A group of men sang call-and-response songs and played drums while a circle of women wearing long, floral skirts and head-scarves twirled and danced and improvised steps. This tradition was brought by African slaves to Brazil and continues to be danced today by their decedents. What I didn't know at first about this tradition is that the women dancing the tambor crioula will sometimes pull female bystanders into their circle to dance with them for a little while, greeting them by putting their arms up into the air and bumping bellybutton-to-bellybutton. I saw several women get close to the circle when they were watching and, sure enough, bump-twirl-twirl....

When we arrived at the band playing forrô music, we all started dancing. Forrô is an incredibly fun dance music, native of Brazil's northeast. I love that one of the driving forces behind this music is the triangle- it is such a wonderful (and underused!) percussion instrument.

For some inexplicable reason, there were a couple of clowns hanging out in front of the forrô stage... they weren't singing or dancing really, but there they were in full clown regalia and face paint. Just one of those creepy delightfully unpredictable details of the junina festivities!

Here is a video I made of what it was like walking around the historic center at night, finding tambor crioula and forrô performances, tucked away on each corner...

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What are your favorite yearly festivals?? What new festivals and cultural traditions have you experienced recently? Until next time, fair petticoat rustlers-- keep rustling!

Photos from Taim and Rio dos Cachorros

Being a tourist in Brazil was a phenomenal experience. Being a graduate student at an academic conference on social and environmental policy in Brazil's northeastern region was also wonderful- and intense and deeply engaging. The Universidade Federal do Maranhão (UFMA) brought together a diverse array of Brazilian and American scholars in the fields of anthropology, geography, and ecology (and literature, though to a lesser degree) for a four day conference that covered an enormous amount of information.

One of the highlights of the conference for me was a trip to several traditional communities to see firsthand how their local economies worked, what the natural resources of the area were, and what issues were important to the people who've been living there for centuries. The trip to Taim and Rio dos Cachorros made many of the scholarly papers (and the debates surrounding their arguments) become so much more real and immediate.

Here are the photos I took from those communities, who are currently engaged in an effort to protect their traditional way of life, their environment, and to make their local economy flourish as a result of the preservation of these lands (rather than at their expense): 

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I've got several more posts on Brazil in the works! Stay tuned-- until next time, dear petticoat rustlers!