[In the essay below, Hart discusses historical and religious references in the poem "Terremoto. 'I

César Vallejo's poem "Terremoto" has received little critical attention in the past. [In the 1976 César Vallejo: The Dialectics of Poetry and Silence] Jean Franco discusses how the poem 'destroys any sense of presence in order to replace this by relativity and function', but she does not bring out the relevance of the historical figures to the imagery used. Americo Ferrari gives a longer critical discussion of "Terremoto" [in the 1972 El universo poetico de César Vallejo], showing how it is characterized by opposites of various kinds, but confessing ignorance at the meaning of certain phrases such as 'horizonte de entrada' and the relevance of certain names such as Atanacio and Isabel. Clayton Eshleman goes one step further in this disregard for the resonance attached to historical figures by remarking [in César Vallejo: The Complete Posthumous Poetry] that the proper names mentioned in "Terremoto" "have no particular meaning for a Spanish reader." In this article, I show how the historical figures form a vital part of the argument of the poem, without which the poem cannot be understood. As we shall see, "Terremoto" manipulates, in an allusive and subtle manner, arguments about religious heterodoxy, such as Arianism and the Incarnation, which once troubled Christendom. These religious debates are related creatively to the personal spiritual anguish experienced by the poet. Before a discussion of these strands of religious controversy, the poem must be quoted in entirety:

Hablando de la leña, callo el fuego?
Barriendo el suelo, olvido el fósil?
Razon,

mi trenza, mi corona de came?
(Contesta, amado Hermeregildo, el brusco;
pregunta, Luis, el lento!)

¡Encima, abajo, con tamaña altura!
¡Madera, tras el reino de las fibras!
¡Isabel, con horizonte de entrada!
¡Lejos, al lado, astutos Atanacios!

¡Todo, la parte!
Unto a ciegas en luz mis calcetines,
en riesgo, la gran paz de este peligro,
y mis cometas, en la miel pensada,
el cuerpo, en miel liorada.

¡Pregunta, Luis; responde, Hermeregildo!
¡Abajo, arriba, al lado, lejos!
¡Ilsabel, fuego, diplomas de los muertos!
¡Horizonte, Atanacio, parte, todo!
¡Miel de miel, llanto de frente!
¡Reino de la madera,
corte oblicuo a la linea del camello,
fibra de mi corona de carne!

The main opposition around which the whole poem is constructed is that between body and soul, as Ferrari has suggested. The references to historical figures of the past are used as means of exploring this basic antithesis. Luis and Isabel are political figures, the first being perhaps Louis II Le Begne (846-879), reputed a stammerer, which would explain why Vallejo calls him "el lento"; and the latter being Isabel I (1451-1504), Queen of Castile. The other two historical characters are mainly known for their spiritual preeminence. Vallejo writes "Hermeregildo", although the normal spelling in Spanish is "Hermenegildo (San)" (d. 585), the Visigothic Prince who was converted to Catholicism in 573 and who was executed after twice attempting to murder his father. Vallejo's description of him as 'Hermeregildo, el brusco' is, thus, quite apt. The fact that Vallejo mis-spells this saint's name need not trouble us. It is no doubt quite deliberate. In 'Los nueve mon struos', for example, as the fascimile of the original typescript shows, Vallejo's mis-spells Jean-Jacques Rousseau's name as "Russeau". The fourth figure mentioned is 'Atanacio' which, again, should be spelled rightly 'Atanasio (San)' (296-373), one of the fathers of the Christian Church and patriarch of Alexandria. Vallejo introduces Saint Hermenegild and Saint Athanasius into his poem because they were both renowned for their defence of the orthodox faith against Arianism. Saint Hermenegild rebelled against his father Leovigild precisely because the latter was an Arian. Saint Athanasius fought successfully, for his part, against Arianism in the Council of Nicaea (325). Arianism, about which debate raged in the 4th century and even later, in stressing the absolute divinity of God and the humanity of Christ, tended to produce a split between the physical and spiritual realms which proved unacceptable to orthodox Christianity.

An enquiry into this fundamental philosophical issue lies at the heart of Vallejo's poem. Thus, in the first stanza, the poet asks whether, when reasoning, he should forget "my braid, my crown of flesh." In other words, Vallejo seems to be saying, should we ever think of our mind and body as separate entities? Similarly, Vallejo asks whether he should forget "the fossil" (i. e. the inevitability of physical death) while "sweeping the ground" (i. e. thinking). The same parallelism underpins the metaphor which opens the poem where 'wood' (body) is contrasted with 'fire' (soul). This particular analogy of fire burning and consuming the wood appears to come from Hugh of St Victor, though Vallejo may have found it elsewhere, and a very beautiful example of it occurs in Luis de León. As will become clearer, Vallejo is also referring—albeit obliquely—to another related debate which perturbed early Christendom.

In the second half of the poem, Vallejo underlines that the relations he is alluding to are in the nature of a synecdoche. Thus, he begins line eleven with the exclamation "Todo, la parte!". The relation between part and whole can be compared to that between soul and body. One image which acts as a go-between linking the two levels is the "wood". The greatest key to its precise resonance in Vallejo's poem appears in the at first enigmatic line, "jIlsabel, fuego, diplomas de los muertos!" Since Isabel I holds the dubious distinction of having founded the Spanish Inquisition, I take this line to be an evocation of the traditional means by which heretics were executed, namely the auto-de-fe. The reference to fire, or burning at the stake, along with the background of Arianism, a persistent heretical creed, in the poem, would seem to strengthen this interpretation. That fire should be described as "diplomas of the dead" is no doubt a reference to the belief that, through fire, the sinner's soul should be purged of evil, and, therefore, as it were, obtain the certificate necessary to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. This gives a rather graver significance in retrospect to the opening line of the poem, "Hablando de la lehia, callo el fuego?"

Because so many of the images ultimately stem from the antithesis body-soul, it comes as no surprise that Vallejo is also reviving the debate in early Christendom concerning the mystery of how the components of body and soul are joined in the Incarnation. The fathers of the Church themselves compared this transcendent fusion to that of, inter alia, wine, honey, water, fire and iron. Vallejo, indeed, quite often used the idea of admixture to define spiritual relationships. Thus, in "Los desgraciados", he speaks of "el hacha en que estan presos / el acero y el hierro y el metal" which seems to be a reference to the Trinity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit administered in Mass. In a similar vein, in "Batallas II", Vallejo writes of how "a lo largo del mar que huye del mar, / a traves del metal que huye del plomo, / al ras del suelo que huye de la tierra" to suggest the spiritual fragmentation caused in matter itself by the Spanish Civil War. The most common admixture in Vallejo's poetry occurs between water and wine, which again symbolizes the body-soul pair. In "Despedida recordando un adiós", for example, Vallejo bids farewell to "wine that is in the water like wine" and to "alcohol that is in the rain". In "Me viene, hay dias, una gana uberrima, politica. …" Vallejo speaks of the "king of wine" and the "slave of water". In "Terremoto", many of these various poetic strands are woven together. In particular, honey, fire and water (or tears) are employed as images to signify the dialectic of body and soul. In the third stanza, for example, body and soul are described as two different kinds of honey, the first of which is "miel llorada", the second being "miel pensada". In the final three lines of the poem, all these connotations are brought triumphantly together in a summa reminiscent of Golden Age verse:

¡Reino de la madera,
corte oblicuo a la línea del camello,
fibra de mi corona de came!

Here, Vallejo compares once more his flesh to wood. His flesh is seen at once as a crown (of thorns), like the one Christ wore before crucifixion, and also wood (which is reminiscent, given the context, of the wood of the cross on which Christ was crucified). Again, this symbolism was quite common in Vallejo's poetry. In "Un pilar soportando consuelos … ", for instance, Vallejo had spoken of "las tablas de esta frente". The final image of "Terremoto", thus, combines various levels of suffering and sacrifice. The poet is also kneeling in prayer. The wood of his flesh has been cut back, as a result of intense suffering, to "la linea del camello", namely, the kneeling position characteristic of camels at rest. The image of the honey which appeared earlier on in the poem can also be taken as a grotesque reference to the poet's flesh which, through the purgation of fire, begins to melt. Vallejo seems to take an almost masochistic pleasure in these images of self-destruction (or rather, martyrdom), represented variously as burning wood, melting honey and the unavoidable fossil.

"Terremoto," as we see, employs historical figures and the religious ideas associated with them to express a personal spiritual dilemma. It is a complex poem, more demanding intellectually and emotionally than critics have hitherto assumed.