Birds without a Nest E-Book

Clorinda Matto de Turner

• Herausgeber: Lebooks Editora
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Women Writers of the World
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 231

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Birds without a Nest   is a sharp critique of social injustices, Indigenous oppression, and institutional corruption in 19th-century Peru. Clorinda Matto de Turner exposes the inequalities within society, highlighting the clash between the Creole elite and Indigenous communities, particularly concerning abuses of power, racism, and exploitation. Through characters like Fernando and Lucía Marín, the novel portrays the struggle for justice in an environment marked by discrimination and resistance to change. Since its publication, Birds without a Nest has been recognized for its bold denunciation of social issues and for inaugurating a literature committed to Latin American realities. Its exploration of themes such as political corruption, the role of women, and inequality has ensured its relevance within the literary canon. The novel not only documents an era but also offers a critical perspective that continues to resonate in contemporary contexts. Its enduring significance lies in its ability to illuminate conflicts between tradition and progress, justice and privilege. By examining the tensions between idealism and oppressive structures, Birds without a Nest invites reflection on power dynamics and the barriers that still persist in society.  

Leseprobe

Clorinda Matto de Turner

BIRDS WITHOUT A NEST

Original Tittle

“Aves sin nido”

Contents

PRESENTACION

BIRDS WITHOUT A NEST

PART I

PART II

PRESENTACION

Clorinda Matto de Turner

1852 – 1909

Clorinda Matto de Turner was a Peruvian writer and journalist, recognized for her contribution to indigenist literature and her fight for the rights of Indigenous peoples and women in Latin America. Her work challenged the social and political norms of her time, addressing issues such as injustice, colonial oppression, and cultural identity. Despite facing censorship and persecution, her legacy endures as one of the most influential voices of the 19th century in Hispanic American literature.

Early Life and Education

Clorinda Matto de Turner was born in Cusco into a family of Indigenous and Spanish descent. From a young age, she showed great interest in literature and history, receiving an education that was uncommon for women of her time. After the death of her parents, she moved to Tinta, where she met her husband, the English merchant Joseph Turner. Her marriage allowed her to develop an intense intellectual activity, collaborating with newspapers and writing essays that denounced discrimination against Indigenous people and the limited role of women in society.

Career and Contributions

Matto de Turner became one of the first women to direct a newspaper in Peru when she took charge of El Perú Ilustrado. Her journalistic and literary work was marked by her defense of indigenism and her criticism of power structures dominated by the oligarchy and the Church. Her most famous novel, Birds without a Nest (1889), denounces the abuses of landowners and clergy against Indigenous people, becoming a milestone in Latin American social literature.

In Birds without a Nest, Matto de Turner tells the story of an Indigenous family suffering from exploitation and corruption in a small Andean town. The novel sparked great controversy, being censored by the Church and deemed subversive by the authorities. Its impact was so significant that the author was forced into exile in Argentina, where she continued writing and promoting her ideas through new publications.

Impact and Legacy

Matto de Turner was a pioneer of indigenism, a literary and social movement that sought to defend the rights and culture of Indigenous peoples. Her work influenced writers such as José María Arguedas and Ciro Alegría, who continued exploring Indigenous realities in their writings. Additionally, her advocacy for women's education and gender equality made her a key figure in Latin American feminism.

Her narrative style, clear and direct, combined elements of realism with strong social commitment. Through her writings, she denounced the structural injustices affecting Indigenous communities and promoted a shift in the mindset of Peruvian society at the time.

Clorinda Matto de Turner passed away in Buenos Aires in 1909, leaving behind a literary and political legacy that remains relevant. Though she faced censorship and persecution, her courage in challenging established norms made her one of the most influential writers of her time. Today, Birds without a Nest is considered a fundamental work of Peruvian and Latin American literature, and her name remains synonymous with the fight for social justice and the dignity of Indigenous peoples.

Matto de Turner paved the way for future generations of writers and thinkers committed to social transformation, securing her place in the history of literature and activism in Latin America.

About the Work

Birds without a Nest is a sharp critique of social injustices, Indigenous oppression, and institutional corruption in 19th-century Peru. Clorinda Matto de Turner exposes the inequalities within society, highlighting the clash between the Creole elite and Indigenous communities, particularly concerning abuses of power, racism, and exploitation. Through characters like Fernando and Lucía Marín, the novel portrays the struggle for justice in an environment marked by discrimination and resistance to change.

Since its publication, Birds without a Nest has been recognized for its bold denunciation of social issues and for inaugurating a literature committed to Latin American realities. Its exploration of themes such as political corruption, the role of women, and inequality has ensured its relevance within the literary canon. The novel not only documents an era but also offers a critical perspective that continues to resonate in contemporary contexts.

Its enduring significance lies in its ability to illuminate conflicts between tradition and progress, justice and privilege. By examining the tensions between idealism and oppressive structures, Birds without a Nest invites reflection on power dynamics and the barriers that still persist in society.

BIRDS WITHOUT A NEST

PART I

CHAPTER I

It was a cloudless summer morning, and all Nature, smiling in his felicity, sent up a hymn of adoration to the author of its beauty.

The heart, tranquil as the nest of the dove, gave itself up to the contemplation of the magnificent picture.

The single plaza (public square) of the little Peruvian town of Killac measures three hundred and fourteen square metres. Buildings of different kinds are grouped around it, the red tiled roofs of the houses rising above the straw thatched cabins of the Indians.

On the left rises that common home of the Christian — the temple, surrounded by a stone wall, and in the belfry, where the old bell laments for those that die and laughs for the newly P orn, the cullcus build their nests.

The cemetery of the church is the place where, by common consent, the people gather together on Sundays after mass, comparing notes about their work, murmuring at their hardships and gossiping a little about each other.

Less than half a mile to the South one finds a beautiful country house, noted for its elegant construction, contrasting strongly with the simplicity of its location. Its name is “ Manzanares.” This was the property of the former priest of Killac, Don Pedro Miranda y Claro, afterwards Bishop of the Diocese, of whom careless-tongued people sometimes spoke in not very saintly terms when commenting upon occurrences which took place during the twenty years that Don Pedro was the shepherd of the flock. In that period “ Manzanares ” was built and became afterwards the summer residence of his Illustrious Highness.

The beautiful plain, surrounded by orchards and cultivated fields, watered by channels of murmuring crystal water, the river flowing near, all combine to render Killac a place of poetic beauty.

The night before, rain had fallen, accompanied by hail and thunder, clearing and refreshing the air, and the rising sun, peeping above the horizon, sent its golden rays over the trembling plants, turning into jewels the crystal drops not yet fallen from the green leaves.

The swallows and thrushes flew from tree top to house, filling the air with music, their bright plumage glittering in the sun.

Early summer mornings, bright and beautiful, inviting one to live ; inspire the painter and the poet in the pleasant land of Peril.

CHAPTER II

On that morning which we have described, when the sun, recently risen from his dark couch, called bird and flower to spring up to salute him with their homage of love and gratitude, a laborer crossed the plaza, guiding his yoke of oxen laden with the implements of husbandry, a yoke, a grad and leathern straps for work, and the provisions of the day; the traditional “chuspa,” or bag of woven wool of various colors, fastened to the belt containing the “ coca ” leaves and cakes of “ llipta ” for his lunch.

On passing the door of the temple he reverently lifted his cap and murmured something like an invocation, then went on his way, now and then looking back sorrowfully at the cabin from whence he came.

Was it fear or doubt, love or hope that troubled his soul at that moment? It was plainly to be seen that something impressed his mind strongly.

Scarcely was the labourer lost to sight in the distance when the figure of a woman sprang lightly over the wall on the South side of the plaza. She was a young Indian woman of not more than thirty years of age, with fine features and rosy face. Shaking off her dress the mud which had fallen upon her from the wall, she directed her steps to a modest looking white cottage with tiled roof not far away.

At the open door she was met by a young lady neatly dressed in grey with lace trimmings and mother-of-pearl buttons.

Very fair and generous was this lady, — the Señora Lucia, wife of Don Fernando Marin, a gentleman who had some business connection with the mines near the place and had settled temporarily in Killac.

The newcomer addressed Lucia quickly without ceremony, saying : “In the name of the Virgin, Señora, protect this day an unfortunate family. He who has gone to the fields to-day passing by you here, laden with the implements of labour, is Juan Yupanqui, my husband and father of our two little girls. Alas, Señora I He has gone out with his heart half dead, because he knows that to-day will be the day of distribution, and as the overseer directs the barley sowing he cannot hide himself because, besides the imprisonment, he would have to pay the fine, and we have no money. I was crying beside Rosalia, who sleeps by the fireplace, when suddenly my heart told me that you are good, and without Juan’s knowledge I came to implore your assistance for the sake of the Virgin, Señora.

A flood of tears put an end to that supplication which was full of mystery to Lucia, for, having resided but a few months in the place, she was ignorant of its customs and could not appreciate at their full value the references made by the poor woman, although they roused her sympathy.

It is necessary to see face to face these disinherited creatures, to hear from their own lips in their expressive language the narrative of their actual circumstances, in order to understand the quick sympathy which springs up unconsciously in noble hearts, and how they came to take part in their suffering finally, although at first prompted only by a desire for knowledge.

The words of the Indian woman excited the interest of the sympathetic Lucia, and she asked kindly : “ And who are you ? ”

“I am Marcela, my lady, the wife of Juan Yupanqui, poor and unprotected,’’ replied the woman, drying her eyes upon the sleeve of her dress.

Lucia, putting her hand kindly upon her shoulder, invited her to take a seat upon a stone bench in the garden and rest herself.

“Sit down, Marcela; dry those tears that throw a cloud over the sky of your eyes, and let us talk calmly,” she said.

Marcela calmed her grief, and, perhaps with the hope of salvation, responded with minuteness to the questions of Lucia: “As you are not of this place, Señora, you do not know the martyrdom we suffer from the , collectors, the overseers, and the priests.

Alas, alas I Why does not a plague carry us all away that we might at least sleep peacefully in the earth ? ”

“ Why do you despair so, poor Marcela ? There will be some remedy, you are a mother, and the heart of a mother lives as many lives in one as she has children.”

“Yes, Señora” replied Marcela? “You have the face of the Virgin to whom we offer our praise and prayers, and that is why I came to ask your help. I wish to save my husband. He said to me when he went away: * One of these days I shall have to throw myself into the river, because I cannot endure this life; and I want to kill you too before giving my life to the water,’ and you know, Señora, that this is not right.”

“ It is a wrong thought, a crazy idea, — poor Juan!” — said Lucia sadly; — then casting a searching glance upon the woman continued: “And what is the most urgent need to-day? Speak freely, Marcela.”

“Last year” — the woman, said, “they left in our cabin ten dollars for two quintals of wool. This money we spent buying, among other things, these clothes I am wearing, for Juan said we would get together during the year as much more money; but this has not been possible because of the ‘ faena ’ (obligatory and unpaid labor which the authorities impose upon the Indians) and because my mother-in-law died at Christmas time and the priest put an ‘ embargo ’ upon our potato crop to pay the expenses of the burial and prayers. Now I have to enter the parochial house of "mita’ (unpaid and enforced work which the Indian women do in the houses of the priests and authorities), leaving my husband and daughters; and while I am gone who knows if Juan will not go crazy and die. Who knows, also, the fate that awaits me, for the women that go to the ‘ mita ’ come out — looking down at the ground.”

“ Enough " Do not tell me any more ” —  exclaimed Lucia, horror stricken at the depths to which the narration of Marcela was leading her. The last words struck terror to the heart of the pure-minded woman.

“ I will speak to the Governor and the priest this very day, and perhaps to-morrow you will remain free and contented. Go now and take care of your little girls, and when Juan returns soothe him, — tell him that you have spoken to me, and tell him to come and see me.”

The poor woman gave a sigh of satisfaction, perhaps for the first time in her life.

So solemn is the situation of one who, in the supreme hour of misfortune, finds a generous heart to lend her aid, that the heart does not know whether to bathe with tears or cover with kisses in silence the loving hand stretched out to help, or to break out in words of blessing. That is what passed during those moments through the heart of Marcela.

Those who do good to the down-trodden, never can measure the worth of one single word of kindness, one loving smile that for the fallen, the unhappy, is like the rays of sunshine that return life to the members benumbed by the ice of misfortune.

CHAPTER III

In the Peruvian provinces, where they breed the alpaca, and where traffic in wool is the chief source of riches, there exists almost without exception the custom known as “distribution in advance,” which the business magnates, the well-to-do people of the place, practice.

For the payment in advance which the wool buyers make and force the Indians to accept, they fix the price of a "quintal" of wool so low that the gain which the capital invested is made to produce exceeds five hundred per cent.

The Indians who are owners of alpacas emigrate from their huts during the time of distribution, in order not to receive the money advanced, which for them is almost as cursed as the thirty pieces of silver received by Judas.

But, does the abandonment of home, the wanderings among the mountains, ensure their safety? No.

The collector, who is at the same time the distributor of assessor, breaks into their cabins, whose weak lock in the door made of hide offers but little resistance, leaves upon a bench or bunk the money, and marches off to return next year with the list which is the only judge and witness for the unfortunate debtor.

When the year is finished the collector returns with a retinue of ten or twelve men, sometimes disguised as soldiers and with a special balance with counter weights of stone, takes out fifty pounds of wool for twenty five. If the Indian secretes his wool, his only source of income, or if he protests and curses, he is subjected to such tortures as the pen refuses to narrate.

The pastoral of one of the most celebrated Bishops the Peruvian church ever had makes meritorious these excesses, but does not dare to speak of the cold water baths which in some places they employ to force the Indians to declare where they have hidden their goods. The Indian fears that even more than the lash. These inhuman beings who take the form for the spirit of the law allege that flogging is prohibited in Peril; but not the barbarities which they practice on their brothers in misfortune.

The bitter sorrow and despair of Marcela, when thinking of the near coming of the collector, was only the just and anguished explosion of one who sees before her only a world of poverty and infamous pain.

CHAPTER IV

Lucia was no ordinary woman. She had received a good education, and by means of comparisons, her quick intelligence often reached the light of truth in advance of others. She was tall and graceful, not very fair, but what is called in the country “ pearl coloured ” ; her beautiful eyes were shaded by long lashes and velvety eyebrows; she had also that distinctively feminine charm, a wealth of long wavy hair. She had not quite completed twenty summers, but marriage had set upon her that sign and seal of lady that so well becomes a young woman who understands how to unite amiability of character with seriousness of manner. Her husband, Don Fernando Marin, was Director of a Company for working some silver mines in an adjoining province, and had his office in Killac. Here they had lived for a year in what was known as “the White House.”

After her interview with Marcela, Lucia set herself to work to form a plan for saving the poor woman from her painful situation. The word of her husband would have been sufficient to realize all immediate plans, but Don Fernando had gone on a visit to the mines and might not return for some weeks.

The first thought that came to her was to speak personally with the priest and the Governor. For that purpose she sent notes to each of them asking for the favour of a visit.

Arranging her reception room and putting things in order generally for the expected visit, Lucia seated herself on the sofa and began to form her plan of attack.

Presently a heavy knock aroused her from her meditations, and the softly-opened door gave entrance to the priest and the Governor.

CHAPTER V

Of low stature, flat head, large wide-open nose, thick lips, small grey eyes; a short neck surrounded by a band of black and white beads, unshaven chin, dressed in a habit of black cloth, badly cut and badly attended to, a hat of Guayaquil straw in his right hand, —  such was the aspect of the first personage who entered, whom Lucia saluted with much respect, saying, “ May God be with you, Father Pascual.”

The priest, Pascual Vargas, successor of Don Pedro Miranda y Claro, in the holy office at Killac, inspired from the first very serious doubts as to the idea of his having learned in the Seminary either Theology or Latin. His age bordered on fifty years. His manner and appearance were such that it was not difficult to understand Marcela’s reluctance to enter the parochial house in the character of “ mita.”

To the mind of Lucia came involuntarily the question as to how a person of such appearance and manner had been able to reach the position of the grandest of ministries, — for in her religious convictions the priesthood was the embodiment of the highest, sublimest, protectorship for man on earth, receiving him in the cradle with the sign of baptism, despositing his remains in the earth with the holy water of purification, and during his pilgrimage in this vale of sorrows sweetening and softening his bitter pain with the wise word of counsel and the soft voice of hope.

Lucia forgot that its being a mission dependent upon the human will explained its propensity to err; she had also very little idea of what the characters and lives of the priests in those retired places were.

The personage enveloped in a large Spanish cloak, who followed the priest into the room, was Don Sebastian Pancorbo, Governor of the town of Killac.

Don Sebastian, after passing three years in a primary school in a neighboring city, returned to his native town, married Dona Petronilla Hinojosa, daughter of one of the notables of the place, and was immediately made Governor; that is to say, he arrived at the highest post known and aspired to in a small town.

These two grand personages seated themselves comfortably in the arm chairs indicated by Lucia.

The Señora Marin set herself to the task of interesting her callers in favour of Marcela. Addressing herself particularly to the priest, she said: “ In the name of the Christian religion, which is pure love, tenderness and hope; in the name of your Master, who commanded us to give to the poor, — I ask you, Father, to pardon this debt which weighs upon the family of Juan Yupanqui. Ah! You will have in exchange double treasure in heaven! ”

“ Señora,” replied the priest, settling himself comfortably and resting both hands upon the arms of the chair, “all these are beautiful theories, but, God help us who lives without income ? To-day, with the increase of ecclesiastical taxes, and the rush of civilized people who will come with the railroads, our emoluments will cease ; and . . ., and ... in short Doña Lucia, away with the priests ! We will die with hunger! ”

“Has the Indian Yupanqui come for this?” interposed the Governor in support of the priest, and with a triumphant tone concluded, emphasizing the words for Lucia’s benefit: “You know, Señora, that custom is law, and that no one can take us out of our customs.”

“ Gentlemen, charity is also a law of the heart,” interrupted Lucia.

“And Juan, eh? We will see if he will return to touch these springs again, this mischief-making Indian,” continued Pancorbo in a threatening tone, that could not help being noticed by Lucia, whose heart trembled with fear.

The few words exchanged between them made perfectly clear to Lucia the moral degradation of these men, from whom nothing could be hoped and everything was to be feared. Her plan was frustrated completely, but her heart remained fully interested in the family of Marcela, and she was resolved to protect them against all abuse. Her dove’s heart felt its own self respect wounded, and her brow grew pale.

She spoke up energetically : “ A sad reality, sirs! I shall have to persuade myself, that vile self interest has withered also the most beautiful flowers of the sentiment of humanity in these regions where I thought to find patriarchal families with the love of brother for brother. We have asked nothing of anyone, and the family of Juan Yupanqui will never solicit either your favor or your protection.” On uttering these words with all the warmth of a generous heart, the beautiful eyes of Lucia were directed, with the look of one giving a command, towards the open door.

The two potentates of Killac were confounded by this unexpected outburst of Lucia, and seeing no other way of saving themselves, took up their hats to retire.

“ Señora Lucia, do not be offended by this, and believe me to be always your faithful chaplain ” — said Don Pascual; while Don Sebastian hastened to remark dryly : “ Good afternoon, Señora Lucia.”

Lucia cut short the usual ceremony of leave taking, simply inclining her head in response.

Seeing those men go away leaving such a deep impression on her pure soul, she said to herself, tremblingly but vehemently : “ Oh no, no I That man insults the Catholic priesthood! I have seen in the city superior beings with grey heads, go in silence and quietness to look after the poor and the orphan, to succour and console them. I have contemplated the Catholic priest at the bedside of the dying; have seen him pure before the altar of sacrifice ; weeping and humble in the home of the widow and orphan; have seen him take the last loaf of bread from his table and give it to the poor, depriving himself of sustenance and thanking God for the mercy that he could give! But that priest Pascual, —  is he one of those ? No. A priest of wickedness instead. And that other — his soul cast in the narrow mould of avarice ; the Governor does not merit the dignity which has been given him as though he were an honest man.”

As Lucia was finishing her dinner that day, a boy came with a letter. Recognizing the handwriting of her husband she opened it immediately, and, as she read, an observer would have known, by the brightening up of her expressive countenance, that it brought her good news. Señor Marin wrote that he would be with her the next morning, as the constantly falling masses of ice and snow from the mountains had interrupted the work among the mines for a time.

CHAPTER VI

When Marcela returned to her cabin, carrying a world of hope in her heart, she found her children awake and the youngest crying disconsolately at finding her mother absent.

A little patting from her mother, and a handful of boiled corn to eat, was sufficient to calm the grief of the innocent creature who, although born in poverty and rags in the hut of an Indian, shed the same crystal tears as those that fall from the eyes of the children of kings.

Marcela took with enthusiasm her portable loom and continued her work of weaving a beautiful “ poncho,” made bright by the brilliant colors the Indians love.

Never had she begun her daily task more contentedly, and never built more castles in the air than now as she meditated how best to impart to Juan the good news that awaited him.

The hours, for this same reason, seemed very long; but at last came the evening twilight, enveloping in its shadows valley and town, calling away from the fields the cooing doves, which circled around in different directions in quest of their protecting tree.

With these came Juan, and no sooner had Marcela heard his step in the distance, than she went out to meet him ; helped him to tie the oxen in the yard and threw food in the manger. When at last Juan was seated in the house she began to talk to him with a certain timidity, as if doubting how he would receive the news she had to give him.

“ Do you know the lady Lucia, Juan ? ” she asked.

“ I go to mass,'Marcela, and there everyone is known,” replied Juan with indifference.

“ Well, I have spoken with her to-day.” “You? And for what?” — inquired the Indian in surprise, looking intently at his wife.

“ I am so pained by all we have to endure ; you have made me see plainly that this life is making you desperate.”

“ Did the collector come ? ” — interrupted Juan.

Marcela replied calmly and confidently: “Not yet, thank Heaven, but hear me, Juan. I believe that good Señora can relieve us; she told me that she would help us and that you must go and see her.”

“ Poor flower of the desert, Marcela,” said the Indian, shaking his head and taking up the little Rosalia clinging to his knees, “ Your heart is like the fruit of the Penca,’ break off one and another comes to take its place. I am older than you and I have wept without hope.”

“ Not so I, although you tell me I imitate the ' tuna ’; but better thus than to be as you are, like the Mastuerzo ’ which, once touched, withers away. The hand of some evil spirit has touched you; but I have seen the face of the Virgin, the same, the very same, as the face of the Señora Lucia ” — said Marcela, laughing like a little girl.

“It may be” — said the sad hearted Juan, “ but I come tired out from work and without bringing one loaf of bread for you, who are my virgin ; and for these little chickens,” — pointing to the two little girls.