Chapter 6 Representation of Charrúa Speech in 19Th Century Uruguayan
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110 Chapter 6 Representation of Charrúa Speech in 19th Century Uruguayan Literature Magdalena Coll 6.1 Introduction Both Juan Zorrilla de San Martín and Eduardo Acevedo Díaz, from very different ideological camps, “attained the highest positions in Uruguay’s literary canon, with the ensuing operability of their discourses, the publishing of new editions of their works, and their early incorporation into official school syllabi, etc.” (Rocca 2000: 245).1 In the late 19th century, these two literary figures contributed to found Uruguay’s idea of its national self. In that “nation-building literature”—that founding of the national self—both “the Poet of the Nation” and the author who pioneered the Uruguayan novel sketch different characters that define Uruguay’s history and identity. Charrúa characters are featured throughout both their works, with various degrees of importance, as heroes and forgers of the fate of the Nation. Tabaré—as the main character in Zorrilla de San Martín’s romantic epic poem—and Cuaró—as a secondary character in Acevedo Díaz’s historical novels—contribute to create the Charrúa myth embedded within the larger myth of the Nation. Here I will examine how these two writers developed these characters through the representation of their speech and their own metalinguistic comments on such representation. 6.2 A Voice for Tabaré The poem’s epic theme—which centers on the Charrúa raid of the Spanish settlement of San Salvador, the Charrúa chief’s funerals, and Yamandú’s abduction of Blanca—is combined with a romantic view (Zum Felde 1930: 264) that results in Zorrilla de San Martín depicting the protagonist Tabaré as having “a genuinely romantic soul, the sentimental and 111 chivalrous soul of a Lamartine or Chateaubriand character” (Zum Felde 1930: 260). This romantic interpretation of the indigenous theme extends inevitably to the representation of the character’s language. Tabaré, the son of a Charrúa chief and a Spanish captive, will also speak like a Chateaubriand character. This resorting to the Spanish canon of the time to give a voice to 19th century indigenous characters has been highlighted before by Rocca (2003: 133-158) in his examination of the various compositions in which Charrúa and/or Guaraní speech are represented in 19th century Uruguayan poetry (cf. Adolfo Berro, Yandubayú y Liropeya (Año de 1574) (1840); Melchor Pacheco y Obes, Una fiesta guaraní (1841); Ramón de Santiago, El último charrúa (1851); Alejandro Magariños Cervantes, Celiar (1852); Pedro Pablo Bermúdez, El charrúa (1853)) and prose (cfr. Florencio Escardó’s novel, Abayubá (1873)). Rocca briefly comments on the language chosen by some of these authors to represent their indigenous characters: “It is interesting to note how, even with the spattering of some indigenous words, Ramón de Santiago’s Charrúa—like Berro’s Liropeya—is portrayed as an educated speaker and, therefore, functions as a visible interlocutor of the author’s thoughts” (Rocca 2003: 143-4). And he later adds: “Bermúdez cannot break away from the canonical Spanish he makes the natives speak in—even while being consistent in using some native names for flora and fauna” (Rocca 2003: 147). Similarly, Houot sees “Berro’s and Bermúdez’ heroes [as] speaking like 19th century literary lovers” (Houot 2007: 237). In Tabaré, the main character also talks like an educated Spanish speaker, but here there is a conscious attempt—made explicit by the glossary annexed to the poem—to find a more or less convincing way of representing the eponymous character. Precisely in the glossary’s entry for “Tabaré,” Zorrilla de San Martín voices this concern through reflections 112 on his own capacity for evoking the main character’s speech, what he succinctly describes as his desire to make his character “speak Tupí in Spanish”: As regards the form, will critics value the effort I have condensed into the phrase—if not the verse—structure, that I have striven to wrench from the study of the Tupí language, as I sought to disentangle the Indian’s way of thinking and feeling, from the nature of the language, and find the means to speak Tupí in Spanish? (Zorrilla de San Martín 1888: 296-297). This question leads him to elaborate on what he means when he says he makes Tabaré speak Guaraní. It involves employing metaphors used in that language, transferring them to or replicating them in Spanish: “Cold dream, body that was, time of the long suns, fire moon,” with their clear meaning of “death, corpse, summer, star,” and a hundred others that can be drawn from the context, are all images of an unquestionably immense beauty; but they do not spring from the poet’s inspiration, and are rather fruit of a laborious research of the etymology of the Guaraní words with which Indians expressed these ideas” (Zorrilla de San Martín 1888: 297). This “speaking Tupí in Spanish” then, includes speaking in Spanish with Guaraní metaphors, a naïve attempt that implies a theory on the relationship between language and worldview. These statements also reveal Zorrilla de San Martín’s intention to let readers know that his linguistic choices are based on—and in a way legitimated by—research. This is repeated by critics such as Zum Felde: “From autobiographical information we know that the author carefully documented the temperament, ways, and language of the natives, consulting 113 major writings by chroniclers from the time of the Spanish conquest, and, in particular, by Jesuit missioners” (Zum Felde 1930: 265).2 Thus, Zorrilla de San Martín’s strategy is to sprinkle Tabaré’s speech with indigenous words “with the aim of making the characters authentic” (Houot 2007: 242).3 For example, when Tabaré addresses his beloved Blanca: “Thou bringest sleep, like algarrobo sap;/ Dost cast a poisonous shade like the ahué./ I fear the shade, and trembling flee from thee;/ But thou, when I awake, dost follow me;/ Thou mak’st my nerves, that once were heart of ñandubay,/ As feeble as the ombú tree’s weakest sprout…” (Book Second, Canto Third, IV).4 . Tabaré’s speech is not always peppered with indigenous words. When he speaks to his mother, Magdalena, for example, he uses only Spanish words (Book First, Canto Second, VI). Neither is Tabaré the only native who uses Guaraní words in the poem: the speech of the natives at chief Abayubá’s funeral presents several Guaraní lexical elements, such as “tubichá” or “Añang” (Book Third, Canto Second, XII), and the new chief, Yamandú, also uses Guaraní words (“ñandú” and “guaycurú,” Book Third, Canto Second, XVI; “añanguazú,” “Hum,” “Tupá,” and “chajás,” Book Third, Canto Second, XVII). In this poem, the spattering of the text with indigenous words, as observed by Rocca (2003: 143-144) in the speech of the indigenous characters in Berro, Santiago, and Bermúdez, transcends the speech of Tabaré and his people. We find several Guaraní loans in the poet’s voice as he describes the preparations for the Charrúa chief’s funeral: “And to affright the evil spirits Añang and Macachera from his path/ They paint his body with urucú juice,/ And then with gruesome figures paint his face/ to make it still more horrible than death” (Book Third, Canto Second, V). Other indigenous words used by the poet include “curupirá” and 114 “Añanguazú” (Book Third, Canto Second, XI), “mburucuyás” (Book Third, Canto Fourth, I) and “cipó,” “ñapindá,” and “payés” (Book Third, Canto Fourth, II). Zorrilla de San Martín highlights these words by italicizing them in the poem and listing most of them in the “Alphabetical Index of Indigenous Words Used in the Text” that he compiles and annexes to the book (Zorrilla de San Martín 1888: 201-215). The poet includes 40 entries of mostly Guaraní words, whose indigenous origin he stresses with comments such as: “ahué: […] the Indians call it ahué or bad tree”; “Camoatí: indigenous name for large honeycombs”; “Chajá: its name in Guaraní (yajá) means ‘Let’s go’”; “Hum: name given by the Charrúas to the Negro River […] Hu, pronounced with a nasal sound, means ‘black’ in Guaraní”; “Ñandú: Guaraní name,” and so on. At this point, we need to consider more closely how when Zorrilla de San Martín characterizes the speech of the Charrúas he does so through indigenous words of Guaraní origin. In fact, the (con)fusion of the two ethnic groups is explicit throughout the poem: “Guaraní” and “Charrúa”, as identities, alternate synonymously in the poem with Tabaré even referring to himself as “the Guaraní chief” (Book Second, Canto Third, IV), and the narrator calling chief Yamandú “the cowardly Guaraní” (Book Third, Canto Third, VII). This fusion is also evident, for example, in the description of the body paints or ornaments used by Charrúas and in the reference to the god Añang, a Guaraní—not Charrúa—deity (Houot 2007: 358). This might seem peculiar to modern readers, and to those who expect fiction to reflect reality, but it should be borne in mind that while today the Guaraní and Charrúa are distinguished as separate indigenous peoples in Uruguay’s imaginary and in contemporary Uruguayan historiography, when Tabaré was written the Charrúa people were considered part of the Guaraní. It was even thought that the Charrúa language was genealogically related to Guaraní (see, among others, Ameghino, cited in Lafone Quevedo 1897: 4),5 a connection 115 which today is unthinkable. I will come back later to how in 19th century literature the Charrúa language is channeled through the Guaraní language. But first I would like to take a closer look at Tabaré and the fact that the most salient aspect of his linguistic characterization is not how he talks but how he remains silent. Silence and taciturnity are two traits that are very much a part of the depiction of Tabaré and the other Charrúa characters.