Cardones

Crecen entre dos y tres centímetros por año. La niña fotografiada junto al cardón mide aproximadamente 1,25 m. ¿Cuántos años hará que aquel ejemplar custodia el Pucará de Tilcara, un paso estratégico de la quebrada de Humahuaca?

Mercedes Sosa

Lyrics by Violeta Parra Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me dio dos luceros que cuando los abro, Perfecto distingo lo negro del blanco Y en el alto cielo su fondo estrellado Y en las multitudes el hombre que yo amo. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado el sonido y el abecedario, Con las palabras que pienso y declaro: Madre, amigo, hermano y luz alumbrando, La ruta del alma del que estoy amando. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado la marcha de mis pies cansados; Con ellos anduve ciudades y charcos, Playas y desiertos, montañas y llanos Y la casa tuya, tu calle y tu patio. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me dio el corazón que agita su marco, Cuando miro el fruto del cerebro humano; Cuando miro el bueno, tan lejos del malo Cuando miro el fondo de tu ojos claros. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto. Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto Los dos materiales que forman el canto Y el canto de todos que es el mismo canto. Gracias a la vida.

Thanks to life that has given me so much: it gave me two eyes to perfectly see the black from white if I open them well and the high heaven with its starry background and in the multitude the man I love. Thanks to life that has given me so much: it has given me the voice and the alphabet and the words that I think and utter, mother, friend, brother and shining light, the path of the soul with which I love. Thanks to life that has given me so much: it has given marching to my tired feet, with them I walked to cities and puddles, beaches and deserts, mountains and plains and to your house, your street and courtyard. Thanks to life that has given me so much: it has given me the heart which throbbes when I look at the fruits of human mind when I look at the good, so far from evil when I look at the bottom of your eyes. Thanks to life that has given me so much: it has given me laughter and tears, so I distinguish happiness from pain, the two materials shaping the song the song of all which is the same song. Thanks to life.

On Sunday, October 4 died here in Buenos Aires Mercedes Sosa, the great Arrgentine singer or “cantora” as she preferred to call herself. We had already presented a little bit of her special talent in a previous post.

Now, apart from a humble tribute to his memory, I would like to tell you about the enormous impact her funerals had throughout the country. The government declared three days of mourning. Her body was laid in state in the National Congress, and her compatriots waited in endless rows for their turn to say her a final goodbye.

At a time when we Argentines seem to be divided by so many urgent or fictitious issues, it is very comforting to discover that we are united in the love of a great artist and in the appreciation of the memory of a person with firm and consistent ideals.

Much is written these days about Mercedes Sosa. Among so many words, I find particularly moving the letter that the family of Mercedes sent to the press, an accurate description of how many of us feel towards her.

We are the grandchildren, brothers, nephews and son of her who was more to us than just a great and popular artist. We have shared in her life’s private joys and sorrows. Because this great artist was also our grandmother, sister, aunt and mother. That’s why we want to reach you from this intimate place, far from the formality and severity of the official statements: because we know that you have also loved and will love her much more than just a singer and an artist. She has accompanied you so many times and she has become part of your family even without any ties of blood.

It is from this place that we want to tell you that Mercedes – our mother, aunt, grandmother and sister – left this world today. But we also want to tell you that she was always accompanied – even when she was already not aware of it – by the endless attention of friends and great artists, and through each of them, by that of you. And despite the sadness of every agony and of the hard battle she had fought against the menacing death, she spent her last moments in peace.

We are naturally shocked and want to share this sadness with you. Even if at the same time we have the reassurance that everyone – including our beloved “Black” – did their best so that she could stay a little longer with us.

Mercedes was the happiest while singing. And surely she would have liked to sing even in this finale. So that’s how we want to remember her and we invite you to do the same with us.

Thank you so much for your solidarity that we have never ceased to feel.

The family of Mercedes.

And the desire has come true. Her catafalque was encircled by a multitude of visitors singing her songs without cease.

Mercedes Sosa

Texto de Violeta Parra Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me dio dos luceros que cuando los abro, Perfecto distingo lo negro del blanco Y en el alto cielo su fondo estrellado Y en las multitudes el hombre que yo amo. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado el sonido y el abecedario, Con las palabras que pienso y declaro: Madre, amigo, hermano y luz alumbrando, La ruta del alma del que estoy amando. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado la marcha de mis pies cansados;

Con ellos anduve ciudades y charcos, Playas y desiertos, montañas y llanos Y la casa tuya, tu calle y tu patio. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me dio el corazón que agita su marco, Cuando miro el fruto del cerebro humano; Cuando miro el bueno, tan lejos del malo Cuando miro el fondo de tu ojos claros. Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto, Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto. Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto Los dos materiales que forman el canto Y el canto de todos que es el mismo canto. Gracias a la vida.

El domingo 4 de octubre murió aquí en Buenos Aires Mercedes Sosa, grandiosa cantante argentina, o «cantora» como ella prefería llamarse. Ya habíamos mostrado algo de su especial talento en una entrada anterior.

Ahora, además de un humilde tributo a su memoria, quisiera contarles la enorme repercusión que tuvieron sus honras fúnebres en todo el país. El gobierno decretó tres días de duelo, fue velada en el Congreso de la Nación e interminables filas de compatriotas desfilaron en su velatorio para darle un último adiós.

En tiempos en que los argentinos parecemos divididos por tantas disputas urgentes o legendarias, descubrir que podemos seguir unidos ante el cariño a una gran artista y el aprecio a la memoria de una persona con ideales firmes y consecuentes resulta muy reconfortante.

Mucho se ha escrito en estos días sobre Mercedes Sosa. Entre tantas palabras, la carta que la familia de Mercedes envío a la prensa me pareció especialmente conmovedora y precisa en la descripción del sentimiento de tantos de nosotros hacia ella.

Somos los nietos, los hermanos, los sobrinos, el hijo de quien fue para nosotros algo más y distinto que una gran artista popular. Con ella compartimos la vida, las alegrías y las angustias privadas. Porque esa gran artista fue además nuestra abuela, nuestra hermana, nuestra tía, nuestra mamá. Es por eso que queremos llegar a ustedes desde ese lugar íntimo, lejos de la severidad y la dureza de los comunicados oficiales: porque sabemos que también la quisieron y la siguen queriendo aún mucho más allá de la cantante y de la artista que los acompañó tantas veces, a la que han hecho parte de su familia aún sin tener lazos de sangre.

Es desde este lugar que queremos contarles que Mercedes —la mamá, la tía, la abuela, la hermana— abandonó este mundo el día de hoy. Pero también queremos decirles que estuvo siempre acompañada —inclusive cuando ya no podía saberlo— por un desfile interminable de amigos y artistas populares, y en cada uno de ellos: Ustedes. Y que a pesar de lo triste de cualquier agonía, pasó esos últimos momentos en paz, peleando aguerridamente contra una muerte que terminó ganándole la pulseada.

Por cierto estamos conmovidos y queremos compartir con ustedes esta tristeza. Aunque, al mismo tiempo, nos queda la tranquilidad de que todos hicieron lo posible —incluida nuestra Negra— para quedarse un ratito más entre nosotros.

Lo que más feliz la hacía a Mercedes era cantar. Y seguramente ella hubiera querido cantarles también en este final. De modo que así queremos recordarla y así los invitamos a hacerlo con nosotros.

Infinitas gracias por ese acompañamiento que jamás dejó de estar presente.

La familia de Mercedes.

El deseo de canto se cumplió. Su velatorio estuvo repleto de visitantes cantando.

Wang Wei looks out of his studio

Iglesia de San Francisco

Roofs

Town hall bells

Wang Wei (699-761): 書事 輕陰閣小雨 深院晝庸開 坐看蒼苔色 欲上人衣來 shū shì qīng yīn gé xiăo yŭ shēn yuàn zhòu yōng kāi zuò kàn cāng tái sè yù shàng rén yī lái

Studiolum Light cloud. Rain drizzling around the studio. Grew tired. Opening the window to the deep courtyard. Sitting. Watching the green of the moss. It’s getting cold. I should put on some clothes.

Sunrise

Wang Wei mira afuera de su estudio

Iglesia de San Francisco

Tejados

Campanas del Ayuntamiento

Wang Wei (699-761): 書事 輕陰閣小雨 深院晝庸開 坐看蒼苔色 欲上人衣來 shū shì qīng yīn gé xiăo yŭ shēn yuàn zhòu yōng kāi zuò kàn cāng tái sè yù shàng rén yī lái

Studiolum Leve niebla. Llovizna alrededor del estudio. Cansancio. Abrir la ventana al patio profundo. Sentarse. Mirar el verde del musgo. Viene frío. Debería ponerme ropa.

Sale el sol

Whose is this song?

We have already written a couple of times about wandering melodies, the Chechen girl of Istanbul, the Hungarian-Hasidic The rooster is crowing, the internationalist Lenin Song, the Bella ciao arching from the Po to the Black Sea, the heroic songs of the Balkans, the waltz of Leonard Cohen linking Spain with Hungary. But never about the most wandering melody, the queen of all wandering melodies. To play this tune on the guitar or on the oud is the best passport from Sarajevo to Southern India: the eyes sparkle, you are offered a coffee, you’ve got home. This melody had spread all over the Ottoman Empire, every nation adopted it, and the long story of its meanderings and transformations is intertwined with that rich, complex and forceful musical and cultural world that the late Ottoman Empire was and about which we have already written a bit. Now in this post that intends to fill this gap we cannot undertake more than to simply flash this richness of the melody, hoping that in a later post we will return to it.


The perhaps best known version of this melody is the Turkish Üsküdar'a gider iken – When going to Üsküdar, aka Katibim – My scribe. Tradition has it that the beautiful scribe to whom this love song alludes was a real person and women were crazy for him. He is the main figure of the great classic Turkish movie Katip (The scribe, 1968), played by the famous singer and actor Zeki Müren. The soundtrack of the film is of course this song. The film, set in 19th-century Istanbul, can be seen here in several parts. In Turkish only, of course, but in this charming naive folk play style, so characteristic of Turkish movie, you can understand everything without it as well. You should watch at least the first few moments of it. The second version of the song below is sung by Zeki Müren himself, while the first one by one of the brightest stars of old Turkish urban music, Safiye Ayla.

Üsküdar'a gider iken aldı da bir yağmur Kâtibimin setresi uzun, eteği çamur Kâtip uykudan uyanmış, gözleri mahmur Kâtip benim, ben kâtibin, el ne karışır? Kâtibime kolalı da gömlek ne güzel yaraşır Üsküdar'a gider iken bir mendil buldum Mendilimin içine lokum doldurdum Ben yarimi arar iken yanımda buldum Kâtip benim, ben kâtibin, el ne karışır? Kâtibime kolalı da gömlek ne güzel yaraşır

When going to Üsküdar, it began to rain long is the coat of my scribe, its sleeves get muddy. The scribe woke up, his eyes are still sleepy. I am of my scribe and my scribe is mine, it’s nobody’s business. How well the stiff shirt collar suits my scribe! When going to Üsküdar, I found a kerchief I filled it with lokum (Turkish sweet) When looking for my helper, I found him on my side. I am of my scribe and my scribe is mine, it’s nobody’s business. How well the stiff shirt collar suits my scribe!

In Greek the song has several versions. Today the best known is Apo xeno topo – “From a foreign place”, as it is sung below by Eustathia Grendjelou.

Aπό ξένο τόπο κι απ' αλαργινό ήρθ' ένα κορίτσι, φως μου, δώδεκα χρονώ Ούτε στην πόρτα βγαίνει ούτε στο στενό ούτε στο παραθύρι φως μου, δυο λόγια να της πω Έχει μαύρα μάτια και σγουρά μαλλιά και στο μάγουλό του, φως μου, έχει μιαν ελιά Δε μου τη δανείζεις δεν μου την πουλάς την ελίτσα που 'χεις, φως μου, και με τυραννάς Δε σου τη δανείζω, δεν σου την πουλώ μόν' να τη χαρίσω θέλω σε κείνον π' αγαπώ

From a foreign place, a far away land came a girl, my delight, twelve years old. She does not come to the door, near to me or to the window, to tell me a word or two. Her eyes are black, her hair is curly, and on the face she has a mole. Won’t you give it away, won’t you sell to me that mole, you’re only tormenting me? I don’t give it away, I don’t sell it, I want to give it to him whom I love.

But the earlier text is Ehasa mantili – I’ve lost my kerchief. This is how Roza Eskenazi from Istanbul, the queen of rebetiko used to sing it. Unfortunately I don’t have this recording with her. Here you are instead a nice version with Anastasia Eden, from a tavern. I think this one was the Minor Asian Greek version of the song, in most recordings enriched with recitative solos.

Έχασα μαντήλι μ' εκατό φλουριά; κι έμαθα πως το 'χει η κόρη του παπά. Δωσ' μου το μαντήλι, κράτα τα φλουριά μην το μάθει η αγάπη μου και δεν με θέλει πια....

I’ve lost my kerchief with a hundred florins they say the daughter of the priest has it Give me back the kerchief and keep the florins let my lover not see it and leave me.

One can also find a Greek Gypsy instrumental version with the Giorgos Koros band, whose title is the Sephardic equivalent of Apo xeno topo: En un lugar extrangero – In a foreign place. However, the Sephardic version of the song as we know it today has a completely different text which sets the love story in the formerly largest Sephardic town, Thessaloniki: Selanik entero yo lo caminí – I’ve rambled over all Saloniki for you.


But the tune is also known all over the Balkans. The Serbian text is Dva goluba (Two doves) or Ruse kose (Black hair). This is the earliest recording of Dva goluba from 1910:

Poletela dva bijela, aman goluba pa su pali na turbeta cara Murata. Jedan nosi britku sablju cara Murata, drugi nosi amajliju cara Hamida. Pitala ga (ih) vjerna ljuba cara Murata: Oj, Boga vi, dva bijela, aman goluba, otkud vama britka sablja cara Murata, I zlacena amajlija cara Hamida? Sablju dade mila majka cara Murata. seja dade (...) naseg cara Hamida mila seja, amajliju cara Hamida.

Two dear white doves flew away they settled on the turban of Murat. One brought a sharp sabre to Murat the other an amulet to Hamid. The true lover of Murat has asked: Oh, for God, you two dear white doves where is this sharp sabre for Murat and the golden amulet for Hamid from? Murat’s dear mother gave the sabre to him and his sister gave it to our Hamid his dear sister gave the amulet to Hamid.

In Serbian-speaking but Muslim Bosnia the text of Ruse kose is also preceded by a strophe beginning with Oj devojko Anadolko budi moja ti (Oh Anatolian girl, be mine), or it is sung as an Islamic religious song, Zašto suza u mom oku (Why are my eyes weeping?) Although the text of this latter is a prayer, in the Yugoslav civil war it was an Islamist war anthem. In Bulgaria it also has two texts: the Cherni ochi imash libe (Your eyes are black, my dear) is a love song, while the Yasen mesec vech izgryava nad zelenata gora (A bright moon is rising above the green mountains) was the anthem of late 19th-century anti-Turkish liberation wars. But it is also sung in Albanian in Albania, in Macedonian (if there exists a language like this at all) in Macedonia (Oj devojche – Oh, girl), in Arabic in Iraq and in Lebanon, and the Italian KlezRoym band even made a modern klezmer of it with a mixed Arabic-Sephardic-Hebrew-French-English-Italian text.

Fel shara canet betet masha la signorina aux beaux yeux noirs come la luna etait la sua facia qui eclairait le boulevard Volevo parlar shata metni because her father was a la gare y con su umbrella darabetni en reponse a mon bonsoir Perchè my dear tedrabini kuando yo te amo kitir and if you want tehebini il n’y a pas lieu de nous conquerir Totta la notte alambiki et meme jusqu’au lever du jour and every morning ashtanaki pour le voue de notre amour...

The girl with beautiful black eyes was walking on the street, her face, like the moon suffused the street with light. I wanted to speak to her because her father was at the station but she hit me with her umbrella as a return of my bonsoir. Why do you hit me, my dear when I love you so much? Even if you want to declare love there is no way to conquer me. I will wait for you all the night until the very daybreak and every morning I’ll be there as I’ve taken a vow for our love.

The song’s modern panorama in the Balkans is surveyed in the genial documentary of Bulgarian filmmaker Adela Peeva, Чия е тази песен? – Whose is this song? The film was published in 2003 and won at least five prestigious awards, being even nominated as the best European documentary of the year. Nevertheless, it is almost completely inaccessible, you cannot order or download it from any place. You can only watch it on a Bulgarian site in several parts, or in the Google video below. Although it is one hour long, it is a must to watch it all.



The scenario starts in an Istanbul restaurant where the song is sung by a charming Turkish singer, and the table society coming from various Balkan countries starts to discuss where the song really comes from. Peeva is also there, and she decides to set out to travel across the Balkans to discover how it is sung in each country. We hear a lot of beautiful performances with various texts, and of course we are informed in each country that the song comes from there. Perhaps the only exceptions are the Muslim Bosnian choir director who recognize the Turkish origins of the song, and the Macedonian composer who points out that Macedonian folk music does not have such rhythm.

Under the pretext of the song’s various versions, the film offers an introduction to present day circumstances and tensions of the countries of the Balkans. It shows how the various communities use the song as a symbol of their identity, that some perceive the melody as a link to the others, while others interpret the different text and context as a wall against the others. Peeva herself gets into dangerous situations: the Serbians of Vranje want to beat her when she plays them the Bosnian version with her tape recorder, and in the Bulgarian mountain fiesta she is menaced to be hung up if she dares to say that the melody comes from Turkey.

The film is composed with independent scenes going from country to country. Peeva focuses everywhere on only one detail, one community or musician, but with a deep attention that is able to go beyond stereotypes and to grasp the complexity of every situation, the simultaneous presence of good and evil.

It is especially beautiful how Peeva in every scene emphasizes the personality, humanity and moral strength of her interlocutors. This film is not just an ethnomusicological journey, but a series of attentive and sensitive encounters. With the Istanbul filmmaker of Katip, who recalls with enthusiasm the singers of his youth. With the worker-musicians of Mytilene who are elevated above their everyday life by the common music-making in the pub. With the former opera singer of Tirana whose every gesture represent culture and ideas in a desperately eroded world. With the young Serbian priest of a Gypsy community who plays together with his congregation and who condemns the false Gypsy myth of Bregović and Kušturica. This film, which looks at the Balkans from inside, with love and on equal terms, and which, instead of focusing on the usual comic or tragic Balkan stereotypes exhibits the strength and steadfastness with which these people transcend their often tragic world, stands out high from the recent dumping of Balkan films.


This film and song has even inspired an EU project. The “Everybody’s Song – Music as a tool for the promotion of diversity and intercultural understanding” project supported in 2007 and 2008 with courses, events and concerts the collaboration of young musicians from the Balkans and the discovery of their common cultural roots. On their page they also illustrate the various versions of this song with several recordings, even from so implausible places and bands like Usbekistan, Malaysia and the Boney M.

However, neither the film nor the project offer an answer to the origins of the melody. Perhaps it is too early to do so. There are a number of conflicting theories around. Some Arabic sources attribute it to the 19th-century Iraqi composer Mullah Osman Al-Muselli, whose version is performed by Yousef Omar in the Iraqi video linked above. Others say that it was diffused in Istanbul by the Scottish military bands stationing in the city during the Crimean war of 1853-56. Again others defend its Armenian origins, saying that it was first sung in 1883 the operetta Leblemitzi Horboraga by Dihran Tsohatzian, which became highly popular all over the Ottoman Empire. This theory is perhaps also supported by the fact that the first recording of the melody was made by German musicologists in 1900 with an Armenian boy in the Eastern Anatolian Gaziantep. However, none of these hypotheses can be verified. We can only say with some probability that it is a relatively late, 19th-century urban song. This is also attested by the fact that its versions in the various provinces of the empire are still surprisingly uniform, and it has survived everywhere as an urban song, rather than a peasant folk song.

The Everybody’s Song project offers only one short musicological study on this song, with an interesting title from an interesting book: Dorit Klebe: “Das Überleben eines osmanisch-türkischen städtischen Liebesliedes seit einer frühen Dokumentation von 1902. Metamorphosen eines makam.” In: Marianne Bröcker (ed.): Das 20. Jahrhundert im Spiegel seiner Lieder. Schriften der Universitätsbibliothek Bamberg. Band 12 (2004), pp. 85-116. I have not yet managed to access it, but as soon as I will read it, I will report on it. If you know more, write us by all means.

Üsküdar around 1900. Photo of Sébah and Jouillier

The City

“The City of Mallorca, in ancient times Palma, is blessed with the fertility of its soil, with its healthy air, with the abundance of every kind of fruits, with the enchanting beauty of its buildings, with the situation of its walls and fortifications, with its three Italian miles long ramparts, half of it extremel fortified. It is the capital of the island of Mallorca and of the whole Balearic kingdom. It has an episcopal seat and a royal court presided by a Viceroy in the name of the Catholic Monarch of all Spain. It is situated at the beginning of the fifth northern climate, at 39º 36' of the latitude and 25º 2' of longitude. On the south it is washed by the sea, and its famous harbor is a safe shelter to ships. Designed with great accuracy by Antonio Garau, priest and mathematician, and is published now for the first time. Year of the Lord 1644”.

True, the Romans founded a city called Palma in the island of Mallorca, but in fact no document attests in an incontestable manner that it exactly corresponded with present-day Palma. Of course some remains of walls and some blurred traces of possibly important buildings (like an amphitheatre, for example) give some assurance that the Roman Palma stood at the northern part of the modern city, around the plaza de Cort.

By when the Arabs arrived in 903, apparently not much of those Roman buildings had been left, and the newcomers did not bother to found their own city on them. As a result, the first documented name of the city is the Arabic Medina Mayurqa, as “Palma” is nothing more than an obscure hypothesis based on some Roman ruins.

In 1229, when Jaume I conquered the island, the name of the city was simply translated from Arabic to Catalan, as it had been already in use in mainland Catalonia, and it received the official name “Ciutat de Mallorca”. This is how it was known until the War of the Spanish Succession, when Mallorca was the last territory to surrender before the army of Philip V. Bourbon on July 3, 1715.

Plan of “La Ciutat de Mallorca” of the priest and mathematician Antonio Garau, 1644

Philip V, in one of his Nueva Planta Decrees wanted to create tabula rasa in the structure of the state, and to especially punish Mallorca, so one of his first measures was to change the name of its capital from the proud and ancient “Ciutat de Mallorca” to the perhaps prestigious but absolutely rootless “Palma” (and never “Palma de Mallorca”: this is a recent invention forged exclusively for the foreigners). The Bourbon also prohibited the use of Catalan language in the administration, which also made impossible the use of “Ciutat”. And now, in 2008 “Palma” has been finally and undisputedly fixed as the official name of the city.

Of course the majority of the people of Mallorca has kept calling the city “Ciutat” to this day, a name that resists do disappear from the mouth of the Mallorcans.

Mid-17th century oil painting largely on the basis of the plan of Garau

And it is a pity that “Ciutat” (or “Ciutat de Mallorca”) could not be preserved as an official name, for there are extremely few cities on this earth that dare to simply and proudly call themselves “the City”, as if they referred to the center of the world. Rome, the Urbs, Constantinople, the Polis (in fact, even the name Istanbul comes from the local Greek is tan polin = in the city), or Medina, the city for the first followers of Mohamed… And of course the “Ciutat” – in Mallorca.

Ciudad

«La Ciudad de Mallorca, antiguamente Palma, afortunada por la fecundidad de su suelo, por su aire sano, por la abundancia de frutos de todas clases, por la belleza impresionante de sus edificios, por la situación de sus murallas y fortificaciones y la circunvalación de tres millas itálicas, la mitad fortificadísima, capital de la isla de Mallorca y asimismo de todo el reino balear, tiene sede episcopal y una Audiencia Real, que preside un virrey en nombre del católico monarca de las Españas. Está situada al principio del quinto clima de latitud norte (39º 36') y en los 25º 2' de longitud. Al sur es bañada por el mar y su célebre puerto es un seguro refugio para las naves. Diseñada con gran esmero por Antonio Garau, Presbítero y Matemático, ve ahora la luz por primera vez. Año del Señor, 1644».

Consta que los romanos fundaron una ciudad llamada Palma en Mallorca pero, de hecho, no hay ningún documento que certifique de manera absoluta que aquélla se correspondiera exactamente con la Palma de hoy. Desde luego, los restos de murallas y vestigios borrosos de algunos posibles edificios importantes (un anfiteatro, por ejemplo), dan ciertas garantías de que la Palma romana estuviera en la parte alta, alrededor de la plaza de Cort.

Cuando llegaron los árabes en 903, de aquellos edificios romanos ya no parece que quedara mucho, y no fueron precisamente respetuosos al asentarse sobre ellos. En resumen, el primer nombre certificado de la urbe es la «Madina Mayurqa» de los árabes, pues «Palma» no pasa de ser una hipótesis oculta en unas ruinas romanas.

En 1229, al conquistar la ciudad, Jaume I simplemente hizo una traducción literal del árabe y dio a la ciudad el nombre oficial de «Ciutat de Mallorca» (ya se la llamaba así desde Cataluña). Y de este modo se la conocería hasta después de la Guerra de Sucesión (Mallorca fue el último territorio en capitular ante el ejército de Felipe V de Borbón, el 3 de julio de 1715).

Plano de «La Ciutat de Mallorca» del presbítero y matemático Antonio Garau, 1644

Como bien se sabe Felipe V, en uno de sus «Decretos de Nueva Planta» quiso hacer tabula rasa en la estructura del estado y castigar especialmente a Mallorca, así que una de las medidas fue cambiarle el nombre a la capital, del orgulloso «Ciutat de Mallorca» al prestigioso pero ajeno topónimo romano «Palma» (nunca «Palma de Mallorca» que es un invento posterior fabricado solo para los forasteros). El borbón también prohibió el uso del catalán en la administración, con lo que «Ciutat» ya no era posible. Y ahora, en 2008, finalmente, se ha fijado el nombre oficial e indiscutible de «Palma».

Por supuesto, en los pueblos de Mallorca, desde el siglo XVIII hasta hoy, mucha gente siguió y sigue llamando a la ciudad «Ciutat», apelativo que se resiste a desaparecer de la boca de los mallorquines.

Óleo anónimo de mediados del siglo XVII que sigue –más o menos– el plano de Garau

Y es lástima que no se haya sabido preservar la denominación «Ciutat» (o «Ciutat de Mallorca») pues son muy pocas las ciudades del planeta que se atreven a llamarse limpiamente así, marcando el orgullo de ser «la» ciudad, como si dijéramos el centro del mundo. Poquísimas: Roma era la Urbs, Constantinopla —Constantinopolis— la Polis (de hecho, Estambul viene del griego local is tan polin = en la ciudad), y Medina, la ciudad para los contemporáneos de Mahoma... Y, a su lado, «Ciutat de Mallorca».

Parade

Woe to the grass where elephants fight,
but a hundred times woe to the grass where elephants make love.

It was seventy years ago today that a monumental military parade took place in the Polish city of Brześć. In view of the militarist spirit of the age there is nothing unusual in this. What is unusual is that the parade was held not by the Polish army, but by the Soviet Red Army and the Nazi German Wehrmacht – together.

In the following fifty years nobody spoke about this parade. “In Soviet times everybody kept silent, as if nothing like this had taken place”, says Vladimir Gubenko from Brest on the site compiled by Vasily Sarychev from the remembrances of the witnesses.

“Time erases a lot of things from memory, especially if it is helped from outside. The post-war generation of Brest already does not know about the joint military parade of the Soviet and the Nazi armies that took place in the city in 1939, and whoever heard something from old people, was not willing to believe it.”

“At the marching in of the Soviet troops there was not a single German officer or soldier on the streets of Brest” – declares Oleg Vishlyov even in 2001, in his popular Накануне 22 июня 1941 года. Документальные очерки (On the eve of 22 July 1941. Study of sources).

Not exactly.

Unterwegs durchfuhren wir noch einmal Brest-Litowsk und wurden durch Zufall Zeugen der deutschen und russischen Parade vor dem Kommandierenden General. Die Stadt wurde nach Verhandlungen den Russen übergeben und als Abschluß führen unser J. R. 90 und Batterien der AR20 und AR56 die Parade, von russischer Seite nahm ein Panzer-Regiment daran teil. Die Bevölkerung, größtenteils Russen, empfingen ihre russischen „Befreier” mit Blumen, Transparenten, Sprechchoren.

“On our way we drove through Brest-Litovsk once more, where by chance we were witness to the German and Russian military parade organized before the chief commander. In terms of the agreement, the city was handed over to the Russians, and as a conclusion, our IR20’s and AR20 and AR56 batteries led the parade. From the Russian side an armored regiment took part in it. The largely Russian population received their Russian «liberators» with flowers, transparents and speech choirs.” (German postcard from 1939)

After September 1, 1939, the German invasion of Poland the Polish defenders of the fortress of Brest under the command of General Konstanty Plisowski drove back six German sieges in two weeks. They gave up the defense only on September 17, when they had notice of the Soviet invasion of Poland. They managed to break out of the fortress in the night, under heavy cannonade, also taking their dead and wounded with themselves. Plisowski would fell in Soviet captivity ten days later and killed together with his officers in April 1940 in Katyń.




On the same night when the defenders of Brest broke out of the fortress, Soviet commissar of foreign affairs Vladimir Potemkin asked Polish ambassador Wacław Grzybowski in the Kreml, where he read him the following note signed by Stalin:

The German-Polish war has brought to the surface the failure of the Polish state. During the ten days war Poland has lost all its industrial regions and cultural centers. Warsaw as the capital of Poland does not exist any more. The government of Poland has disintegrated and shows no sign of life. Therefore any agreements between the Soviet Union and Poland are repealed. Poland, left to its fate and deprived of its leaders, became an easy ground for unexpected and dangerous actions that may also menace the Soviet Union. Under the pressure of these facts, the Soviet government which hitherto has been neutral, cannot maintain its neutrality any more.
.....The Soviet government cannot be indifferent to the fact either that the consanguineous Ukrainian and Belorussian population living in Poland are defenceless and lef to their fate.
.....Under the above circumstances the Soviet government ordered the general headquarters of the Red Army to command the army to cross the frontier and take care of the life and property of the population of Western Ukraine and Western Belorussia.
.....The Soviet government will use every mean to free the Polish nation from the unfortunate war into which it was plunged by its inconsiderate leaders, and to assure peaceful life to it.

The ambassador naturally refused to take over the note, but it did not count the least. At that time the Red Army had already crossed the Polish border. The armored brigade commanded by Semyon Moiseevich Krivoshein arrived on September 21 to Brest where they agreed with the German chief commander General Heinz Guderian on the handover of the fortress of Brest to the Russians and on the withdrawal of the Wehrmacht over the Bug river, defined as the new German-Soviet border. Krivoshein congratulated the Germans to their war successes and offered to welcome them in Moscow after their forthcoming victory over the United Kingdom.

Да здравствует рабоче-крестьянская Красная Армия освободительница трудящихся масс З.Б. и З.У.! (Зап.Белоруссии и Зап.Украины) – Long live the Red Army, liberator of the working masses of W(estern) B(elorussia) and W(estern) U(kraine)!

The Izvestiya published on September 18, 1939, one day after the Soviet invasion of Poland the “demarcation line” determined by the Molotov-Ribbentropp Pact, that is, the new border between Germany and the Soviet Union.

The definitive version of the map, modified on September 28. The Soviets offered the Polish territories between the rivers Bug and Wistula in change for Lithuania. Detail of the map with the signatures of Stalin and Ribbentropp.

Liberation of the friendly peoples of Western Ukraine and Western Belorussia, 17. IX. 1939

It is our holy duty to lend a helping hand to the friendly peoples of Western Ukraine and Western Belorussia!

“Our army is the army of liberation of the working masses” (Stalin)

It was so – It is so (in Ukrainian)

The handover of the fortress and the document on the joint military parade was first quoted in 2007 by Valentin Antonov in his series of articles published in the journal Солнечный ветер. He wrote this series on the entry of the Soviet Union in WWII, the starting point of which he considers to be not the beginning of the Blitzkrieg on June 22, 1941, but the Soviet invasion of Poland on September 17, 1939. The mere existence of this document was also debated among Russian historians until in the spring of 2008 “pustota1” from a Russian web forum ordered a copy of it for twelve euros from the Bundesarchiv and published it on the Russian net. After this the first detailed overview of the handover of Brest and on the Nazi-Soviet joint military parade was published in the autumn of 2008 in the Novaya Gazeta.



Since the publication of this document the heated debate on the Russian historical forums has focused not on the historical reality of the joint parade, but on whether it can be considered as a parade. An article of the Russian BBC published just a month ago resumes well the different standpoints. According to the editor in chief of the journal Посев Yuri Tsurganov – and this is what I also experience with my own Russian friends, and I would like to write about it later – a new cult of the victory of Soviet people and of the Soviet state in WWII is taking shape in Russia, and a joint military parade with the “mortal enemy” would absolutely not fit this image. “The September 22, 1939 parade in Brest is like a nail in the shoe. You have to pull it out, costs what it costs.” The opponents of the term “parade” say that such thing could have been authorized only by the supreme Soviet leadership, and that the Brest ceremony was only a торжественный марш, a festive procession. As if this changed so much in the demonstrative character of the event, the celebration of the “common victory”, the manifestation of the Soviet-Nazi brotherhood in arms, the violation of the Soviet-Polish non-aggression pact of 1932 and the cynical invasion of Poland after which two hundred fifty thousand Polish soldiers perished in the Soviet lagers.

Pig, educated in Paris (Poland / The borders of 1772)

It is worth to check what the “procession” was considered by its main protagonists.

Am Tage der Übergabe an die Russen kam der Brigadegeneral Kriwoschein, ein Panzermann, der die französische Sprache beherrschte, und mit dem ich mich daher gut verständigen konnte. (…) Eine Abschiedsparade und ein Flaggenwechsel in Gegenwart des Generals Kriwoschein beendete unsern Aufenthalt in Brest-Litowsk.

On the day of the handover [of the fortress] to the Russians, Brigadier Krivoshein, commander of a tank army arrived. He spoke French, so I could make myself understand well with him. (…) A farewell parade and the change of the national flags [the lowering of the Nazi flag and the hoisting of the Soviet flag] closed our sojourn in Brest-Litovsk. (Memorials of General Heinz Guderian)

Я не могу вывести на парад людей и танки без того чтобы не привести их в должный вид.
– Если я правильно вас понял, вы, генерал, хотите нарушить соглашение вашего командования с командованием немецких войск? – ехидно спросил меня Гудериан. (…) – Пункт о параде записан в соглашении, и его нужно выполнять, – настаивал Гудериан (…)
Итак, договорившись о параде, я собирался уже распрощаться, но Гудериан попросил меня позавтракать с ним.

– I cannot take my people and tanks to a parade without their looking out as they properly should.
– If I understand you well, General, you want to violate the agreement signed by your commanders and by the headquarters of the German army? – Guderian asked sarcastically. – The parade is determined in a separate paragraph of the agreement, and it has to be fulfilled.
Thus we have agreed on the parade, and I wanted to leave, but Guderian invited me to have breakfast. (Memorials of General Krivoshein)

14.00 Beginn des Vorbeimarschs der russischen und deutschen Truppen vor den beiderseitigen Befehlshabern mit anschliessenden Flaggenwechsel. Während des Flaggenwechsels spielt die Musik die Nationalhymnen.

14.00 Marching of the Russian and German troops in front of the commanders of the two armies, together with the change of national flags. During the change of flags the music of the two national hymns is played. (From §.1 of the document of the handover of the fortress)




The Red Army marched into Brest at eight in the morning. After the negotiations between the two commanders, the two armies started fraternizing. The soldiers offered to each other cigarette and the officers the local Brest beer.














Мне запомнилось, как по одной полосе улицы стояли немецкие танки, а по другой - советские. Танкисты вермахта и Красной армии приветствовали друг друга. Немцы говорили: «Коммунистэн! Гут!

I remember how the German tanks stood on the one side of the street and the Soviets on the other. The soldiers of the Wehrmacht and the Red Army greeted each other. The Germans told: “Kommunisten! Gut!” (Remembrance of Romuald Bulyas from Brest, quoted by Vasiliy Sarychev)








The parade has taken place on the main street of Brest, which at that time was called of the Union of Lublin – it was this union between the Polish Kingdom and the Lithuanian Grand Duchy that established in 1569 the Polish Rzeczpospolita. Soon it will be rebaptized September 17 Street after the day of the Soviet invasion. In 1941, after the German occupation it will be called the 45th Division Street after the army occupying the fortress. Finally since 1945 it has been called Lenin Street. This is the only name of it that does not refer to the momentary state power, but in the Soviet Union the street where the party headquarters stood could have no other name. Here, in front of the future party headquarters, on a wooden platform put up in all haste Generals Guderian and Krivoshein received the salute of the Soviet and German armies. The Jewish blood of the Soviet commander apparently did not disturb the commander of the Wehrmacht. On the same day similar, although smaller parades took place in the nearby towns of Pinsk and Grodno as well.














The parade was also included in the weekly official newsreel (from seconds 40” to 2’25” approximately) played in all the movies of Germany before the main film. Nevertheless, the parade was addressed not to the German people first of all, but it rather demonstrated the Soviet-German brotherhood in arms to Great Britain and France which had declared war on Germany after the invasion of Poland. This must have had its part in the fact that the Western powers watched passively the division of Poland and the killing of hundreds of thousand of Poles and Jews on both sides of it. The terror of these months in the region of Brest is recalled in one of the most beautiful essays of Ryszard Kapuściński, the Pińsk, 1939 introducing his volume The Empire.



Four days after the parade of Brest, German foreign minister Ribbentropp arrived to Moscow. On September 28 the Soviet-German friendship and border agreement was signed. As a part of the agreement, the Soviet secret police NKVD delegated a high rank deputation to Krakow where they demonstrated to the chiefs of the Gestapo their methods used against the Polish underground movement. The leaders of the Gestapo “expressed their admiration” and declared that they also “wished to adopt and apply” the Soviet methods.

Pravda, September 28, 1939. German-Soviet negotiations on the friendship and the borders between the Soviet Union and Germany (from here)

“The scum of mankind, if I’m not mistaken?” – “The bloody killer of the working class, I presume?” David Low, 1939