She Barred the Door of Her Bedroom Forever': Amaranta's Virginity in One Hundred Years of Solitude

“SHE BARRED THE DOOR OF HER BEDROOM FOREVER”: AMARANTA’S VIRGINITY IN ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE by Lynn Walsh A Senior Project Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Major in English and the Bachelor of Arts Degree Stetson University, DeLand, Florida Advisor: Dr. Grady Ballenger 12 December 2016Walsh 1 Abstract Amaranta Buendía, an often overlooked character in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude¸ is analyzed as a corporeal representation of traditional virginal values. By using the Ancient Roman cult of Vesta and the Roman Catholic Church as lenses, we can view Amaranta as a character infatuated with these religions’ overvaluing of virginity and sexual purity. These frameworks allow us to understand Amaranta’s virginity in a new light, one which leads to sexual suppression, damages Amaranta’s relationships to potential lovers, and perverts incestually her two young wards’ lives. Walsh 2 The theme of virginity is underexplored in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and, when pursued, is overwhelmingly done so only in regards to Remedios, la bella.1 Remedios—with her humorous, magically realistic parallels to the Virgin Mary—is an excellent, if not obvious, point of comparison between virginal values and Catholicism. While critics explore Remedios’ virginal role within One Hundred Years of Solitude, analyses of virginity rarely leak into other character case studies. To expand this previously narrow exploration of virginity, I am interested in the unique portrayal of virginal traits within the character of Amaranta Buendía.2 I propose that Amaranta can be understood anew with the aid of classical virginal values, specifically those of the pagan Roman goddess Vesta and of Roman Catholicism.3 These beliefs open an interesting analysis of her character based on deep traditions of virginity. Vestal virginity is an ancient Roman cult centering, as its name suggests, on Vesta—the virginal Roman goddess of the hearth, family, and home. Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Roman Antiquities Book II records that virginal women who possessed “a pure mind and a chaste body” were recruited by the Roman state to care for Vesta’s temple (qtd. in Worsfold 43). This virginal cult was central to Rome and her empire, finding its place within the Eternal City’s founding myth: the fabled founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, were miraculously birthed by a vestal virgin (Kroppenberg 419). All subsequent Roman rulers were also believed to be conceived by “a pure virgin” and “the Spirit of Fire,” according to Ludwig Preller’s Römische Mythologie (qtd. in Worsfold 43). From this rich tradition, fire became associated with the cult of Vesta’s virginal emphasis. As caretakers of this sacred flame, vestal virgins were held to high standards; one of their most sacred duties was to remain pure. If a virgin was found to be unchaste, she was buried alive as punishment (Kroppenberg 431). Walsh 3 Catholicism, much like the cult of Vesta, emphasizes the value of virginity within its religion. Central to Catholic doctrine is the figure of Mary, who miraculously conceived Jesus Christ while a virgin. George Brantl, in his exhaustive collection entitled Catholicism, explains that the core teachings of Catholicism entail “the Virgin Birth, that Christ was born of a virgin, that Mary before and after the birth of Christ remained miraculously virgin” (77). Emphasis on Mary’s perpetual virginity is translated into the Church’s hierarchy: all popes, priests, monks, and nuns must be either virginal or celibate throughout their lifespans. Catholicism by Richard McBrien describes this connection between the Catholic Church and virginity: Mary "is a faithful and undefiled virgin, as the Church is called to be” (894). Just like the vestal virginal cult, Catholic virginal values are originally found within its religion’s lore and are reflected in its members’ lifestyles. Mary, the chief virginal figure in Catholicism, embodies the importance of virginity and encourages a similar level of purity within the Church at large. Ultimately, I propose not only that Amaranta embodies these virginal worldviews, but also that the narrative tensions that erupt around Amaranta within One Hundred Years of Solitude reveal these constructs to be active catalysts in the destruction of self and of surrounding society by causing sterility and sexual suppression. I identify specific moments within the novel when definitive older expressions of virginity seep into the text—with or without García Márquez’s realization—that can be specifically related to the Ancient Roman cult of Vesta and Catholicism. These links permit pagan and classical understandings of virginity to mold Amaranta’s character from her birth until her death, allowing us—as readers—to explore new ways of understanding her relationship to both virginity and to the narrative at large. Unfortunately, Amaranta in One Hundred Years of Solitude has been casually written off by the few critics who study her as a femme fatale—a temptress who endangers men and causes Walsh 4 their destruction—perhaps because her significance in regards to virginity has not been explored to its fullest potential (“Femme Fatale”). These characterizations run the risk of creating a one-dimensional reading; as novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie poetically writes, “The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story” (TedGlobal 00:13:12-23). While Amaranta surely contains characteristics of a traditional femme fatale, to argue that one label describes the entirety of this character’s impact on the narrative both undermines the complexity of García Márquez’s work and reduces this woman solely to her interactions with men. Such simplifications are embodied in Arnold M. Penuel’s article “Death and the Maiden: Demythologization of Virginity in García Márquez’s Cien años de soledad” and briefly in his work Intertextuality in García Márquez. Thus far, Penuel is the only critic who has powerfully pushed for Amaranta’s virginity to be analyzed, but he scathingly reduces Amaranta to “her virtually solipsistic narcissism which resembles that of the infant that has not yet learned that it must accommodate its impulses to the realities of the external world” (“Death and the Maiden” 552). According to Penuel, Amaranta’s narcissism and her desire “to maintain complete control of her life” irrevocably ties to her virginity, and ultimately leads to the destructions that erupt around her (554). While Penuel’s particular psychoanalytical analysis delves into the Freudian direction of narcissism and sexual repression, Amaranta’s unique relationship to virginity can be extended beyond her narcissism and can be grounded solely in her fixation with virginity. My proposed evaluation of Amaranta avoids reducing her to a mere temptress and narcissist—a reduction that I believe falls into the dangerous trap of creating a “single story” interpretation. Walsh 5 This reduction of virginal Amaranta into a narcissist is continued in Penuel’s Intertextuality in García Márquez, where he offers a close reading of the relation between virginity, incest, and sexual repression. While Penuel mentions the Catholic cult of virginity in passing, suggesting it savors “the mortification of the flesh,” he never delves into a full analysis of this cult in regards to Amaranta, nor into its destructive nature stemming from this mortification (Intertextuality 61-62). Penuel contends that Amaranta’s “overvaluation of virginity led to a life of sterility [that] has manifestly harmed those around her,” concluding that “virginity metamorphoses in this context into a symbol of sterility and death” (66). While I agree with Penuel’s ultimate conclusion, I find his analysis lacking: it hinges upon a brief close reading which compares Amaranta to Bernarda from Federico García Lorca’s La casa de Bernarda Alba. Never is Amaranta analyzed solely within her own rich novelistic background, nor in regards to her interactions with both potential lovers and her young wards. I endeavor to avoid the pitfall of reducing Amaranta into a femme fatale or a raging narcissist, which fails to uncover Amaranta’s multifaceted importance to those with whom she interacts. To underscore her importance more fully, I push beyond Penuel’s view of Amaranta; I argue that her virginity can be seen as playing a larger part in One Hundred Years of Solitude when we consider her in relation to vestal and Catholic virginal values. Amaranta’s significance as the fleshly embodiment of outdated virginal values emphasizes the pain and destruction which she causes to herself, her potential lovers, and her young wards throughout her lifespan. Amaranta begins her journey as a corporeal representation of these virginal values when García Márquez’s first introduces her; he writes, “Amaranta, the younger, was somewhat graceless, but she had the natural distinction, the inner tightness of her dead grandmother” (García Márquez 54).4 Her grandmother passes on a fear of sexual intimacy based on one of One Walsh 6 Hundred Years of Solitude’s overarching motifs: a fear of incest manifesting itself as a pig’s tail birth defect. Amaranta’s mother, Úrsula, is “terrified” by her mother’s “sinister predictions about their [Úrsula and her cousin’s] offspring, even to the extreme of advising her [Úrsula] to refuse to consummate the marriage” (20-21). This incestual fear, fueled by Amaranta’s grandmother’s advice, ultimately creates suffering for the family. Her fear is tied even further back in the family’s history to a pain passed down by Amaranta’s great-great-great grandmother—the first Buendía woman to exhibit signs that strongly resemble vestal virginity and Catholic practices. Very early in One Hundred Years of Solitude, García Márquez describes how Sir Francis Drake, an English sea captain and voyager of the 16th century, attacks the village of Riohacha and harms Amaranta’s great-great-great-grandmother (Pollitt). While the details of this encounter are vague, I argue that this interaction can be interpreted as rape. Aaron Bady, a post-doctoral fellow of English at The University of Texas at Austin, supports this explanation. He clarifies that historically, Drake was dubbed “the Dragon” because he would pillage and burn cities, figuratively raping the land; he continued this plundering during his expeditions to the Caribbean (Bady). This raping-of-land turns literal in One Hundred Years of Solitude when García Márquez describes that “Sir Francis Drake had attacked Riohacha only so that they [Drake and Amaranta’s ancestor] could seek each other through the most intricate labyrinths of blood until they would engender the mythological animal that was to bring the line to an end” (García Márquez 416).5 Drake’s violent plunder is equated to an implied sexual relationship with Amaranta’s great-great-great-grandmother, one which “engender[s],” or begets, the mutated, cursed child who extinguishes the Buendía bloodline. By combining history and García Walsh 7 Márquez’s description of Drake, we can interpret Drake as a rapist in One Hundred Years of Solitude—not merely a pillager of land, but a violator of a woman’s bodily landscape. Amaranta’s ancestor feels distressed over an oddly described memory of Drake coming “through the windows of her bedroom to submit her to shameful tortures with [his] red-hot irons” (19). This bizarre memory becomes clear when we read Drake’s encounter as a rape: Amaranta’s predecessor feels traumatized from a past sexual violation and fears Drake will enter her “bedroom,” an intimate and private sphere, and “submit her” to further violation. Curiously, in response to this fear of “shameful tortures,” Amaranta’s ancestor punishes her body through methods that resemble those of Vesta’s cult and of Catholic acts of penance. García Márquez describes that she sits down “on a lighted stove,” burning herself permanently, and becomes “obsessed with the notion that her body [gives] off a singed odor” (19). This use of fire elemental language in relation to physical punishment has remarkably strong parallels to vestal virginity. The cult of Vesta, as previously touched upon, has a strong association with fire. According to both Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Plutarch, the centrality of fire to this cult is found within Vesta herself, who labeled fire as her sacred element (qt. in Worsfold 17). Plutarch further comments that vestal virgins, as corporeal representations of Vesta’s presence, kept a physical flame burning in their temple, which was viewed “as an emblem of purity” (qt. in 19). Elemental fire within the cult of Vesta was irrevocably tied to virginity within this classical cult. We can understand descriptions of Amaranta’s ancestor’s burns as a reimagining of vestal virginal fire. This woman’s self-inflicted injuries suggest a desire to cleanse her body after Drake’s rape. She uses fire—the vestal element of purity—to brand her body, symbolically singeing off Drake’s sexual violation and emphasizing her body’s association with purity. By Walsh 8 using an element associated with virginity to brand herself, Amaranta’s ancestor symbolically expunges her rape and restores her physical purity. This use of fire elemental language underscores a response to sex that parallels Ancient Roman virginal themes. This burning can also be seen as an act of Catholic penance. Amaranta’s ancestor forever alters her body’s usefulness by handicapping herself with burns; the subsequently intense physical pain resembles Catholic penances over perceived sin and a loss of one’s purity in relation to God. This act of contrition leads Amaranta’s ancestor into a life of sexual sterility and introversion, seen when the text describes how “the burns changed her into a useless wife” (García Márquez 19). Already in One Hundred Years of Solitude, we can see that fire is a purificatory tool drawing striking parallels to both the cult of Vesta and to Catholic penance, and ultimately leads to self-damage in the form of sterility. These understandings of virginity are then passed down to Úrsula’s mother, to Úrsula, and finally to Amaranta. While Amaranta’s great-great-great-grandmother’s burns create a curious connection to vestal virginity, Amaranta’s grandmother also turns inward and encourages her daughter Úrsula to reject sexual intimacy altogether. Amaranta contains the “inward tightness” of her grandmother, which can be traced through her ancestry; it seems that she is naturally inclined to a life of sterility and a focus on purity, which bears remarkable resemblances to vestal and Catholic understandings of virginity. However, these traditional understandings of purity and virginity—just like with Amaranta’s great-great-great-grandmother—only serve to cause pain to both the individual and to the community at large. Amaranta’s corporeal representation of ultimately destructive vestal and Catholic virginal values is continued through her encounter with her first and greatest love, Pietro Crespi. An overtly European character, Crespi hails from Italy—the country of both Ancient Roman vestal Walsh 9 virginity and Roman Catholicism. Crespi and Amaranta’s romantic interaction strengthens Amaranta’s already existent mental inclination toward and infatuation with these virginal values. Pietro Crespi first arrives in Macondo to assemble the Buendía’s new pianola and to teach Amaranta different dances. García Márquez uses sexual language to describe Crespi’s teachings as “so chaste” that Úrsula feels comfortable leaving her girls unsupervised around this captivating man (62). Already, we see a link between Crespi, sexuality, and specifically purity. Crespi is not only chaste, but also infatuating; García Márquez playfully describes him as “the Italian” whose voluminous hair “aroused in women an irrepressible need to sigh” (73). His good looks are tied to his identity as an Italian and a European, suggesting that everything about him—including his values—has this evocative nature. One of these values is, ironically, his fear of looking unchaste: Crespi would “not even touch the hand of the woman who was going to be his wife within the year” (74). In the text, the chaste Crespi is an Italian character who, with European gallantry, embodies purity laws that appear within vestal virginal and Catholic frameworks. Crespi’s high valuing of chastity and purity—all essential elements of virginity—appeals not only to the community, but also to Amaranta, who already has a disposition toward virginal values. Once Crespi falls madly in love with Amaranta, he “translate[s] Petrarch’s sonnets for Amaranta,” wooing her further into the ideals of Italian romanticism (107). Amaranta falls head-over-heels in love through these courting techniques, to the point where she identifies Italy as “a second homeland,” underscoring her infatuation with Italy, the motherland of vestal virginal and Catholic virginal values (107). Walsh 10 Amaranta’s attraction to these values comes as no surprise, since they also link to sterility—another side-effect of chastity toward which her great-great-great grandmother was drawn. This sterility is shown in the description of Crespi’s hands as “icy,” evoking an image of a cold, heartless person who rejects the warmth of physical affection and sexual love (109). Crespi’s chastity, while valued in his European framework and beloved by Amaranta and Macondon citizens alike, are ultimately painted as sterile. When Crespi finally sets a date for their marriage, Amaranta responds smiling, “Don’t be simple, Crespi…I wouldn’t marry you even if I were dead” (109). Some critics here reduce Amaranta into a femme fatal for leading Crespi on and then snubbing his affections. While this reading is indeed valid, we can extend this analysis beyond Amaranta’s mental state to the influence of sterile Roman values. Amaranta’s rejection can be interpreted in light of these values: While Amaranta does fall in love with Crespi, she ultimately adores the values that he represents more than she loves him. Like her mother, grandmother, and great-great-great-grandmother before her, Amaranta becomes obsessed with Crespi’s standards of purity and chastity, which we have seen are ultimately “icy” and sterile. The sterility of these values leads Amaranta to reject her first chance at true love; because she values the purity and chastity that Crespi represents, she must reject his physical body in order to fully live out these virginal vows within herself. In this way, Amaranta sterilizes herself, causing personal damage to her love life forever. Not only does Amaranta sterilize her life with these values, but also her first interactions with pagan and Catholic virginal values quickly lead to destruction. Pietro commits suicide out of despondency over his rejected affections (110). Ironically, Crespi’s death leads to Amaranta further solidifying her celibacy; she becomes inspired to take on a virgin vow that combines Walsh 11 imagery remarkably similar to both vestal virginity and Catholicism. Her guilt over Crespi’s demise causes her to cling even more tightly to the one remnant of Crespi she can still find: the very same values that led to her sterility and inspired Crespi’s suicide. Since Amaranta’s affections for Crespi can be interpreted as infatuations with Old World understandings of purity, chastity, and sterility, perhaps we should also observe Amaranta’s virginal vows in relation to Crespi. I endeavor to make this turn in my analysis of Amaranta’s self-inflicted burn and of the infamous black ribbon with which both Crespi and Amaranta adorn their wrists throughout the text. Following Crespi’s suicide, Amaranta—paralleling an act of Catholic penance—punishes herself physically in a manner similar to her great-great-great-grandmother: she intentionally burns her flesh on a stove, searing a mark from fire onto her skin. Considering her infatuation with Crespi’s values, Amaranta’s scarring can be seen as an emblem of these purity-focused values and as a lifelong commitment to these standards in memoriam of Crespi. Just as her grandmother utilized fire—the purification element for a vestal virgin—to ironically solve a sexual problem, Amaranta takes this a step further by using fire, Vesta’s chosen element, as a tool to brand herself as a life-long virgin. This understanding of vestal virginity in regards to Amaranta’s vow gives this moment’s significance an added emphasis to her virginal pledge, which indelibly marks Amaranta’s life from this moment onward. After Amaranta burns herself, she wraps a black bandage around her hand. This moment contains irrefutable parallels to Crespi: after his first engagement to Rebeca—Amaranta’s adopted sister—ends, the rejected Crespi dons a similar black ribbon, which for him functions as a sign of mourning. While this ribbon is a symbol of the sadness and sterility of romance for Crespi, Amaranta reinterprets this ribbon as both a sign of her infatuation with Crespi—and by Walsh 12 extension the Old World values he embodies—and of her lifelong virginal vow. George R. McMurray, in his book Gabriel García Márquez, agrees with this interpretation, writing that the black bandage is a symbol of “her virginity and the sterility of her life” (102-103). Amaranta wore the black ribbon until her death, paralleling Pietro Crespi’s own wearing of a black ribbon (García Márquez 110). In this way, Amaranta ties her virginal vow to Crespi—the embodiment of her beloved traditional values. Amaranta’s virginal pledge, which has striking parallels to the vestal virginal vow and to ideas of Catholic penance, is tied to a classical understanding of virginity. After her relationship with Crespi and her subsequent oath, Amaranta’s life is marked by a personal damage from this vow: sexual repression. Amaranta, throughout her remaining impact within One Hundred Years of Solitude, stubbornly holds to her vestal virginal vow, ultimately sterilizing herself and bringing harm to others’ personal lives. These themes of Ancient Roman vestal and Catholic virginal values, causing sterility and repression, are further shown in Amaranta’s interactions with her second and last love: Colonel Gerineldo Márquez, a Liberal colonel fighting alongside Colonel Aureliano Buendía—Amaranta’s brother. Gerineldo has loved Amaranta since his childhood, but because of Amaranta’s “lonely passion for Pietro Crespi,” Gerineldo waits years before he professes his love (136). García Márquez describes how “Amaranta was really making an effort to kindle in her heart the forgotten ashes of her youthful passion” (138). I find this particular line compelling. Amaranta is still trying to pursue love, despite the virginal vow she made after Pietro Crespi’s death. However, one particular phrase reveals that Amaranta is still held back by Crespi’s traditional understandings of love and chastity, which inspired Amaranta’s vestal virginal vow: “forgotten ashes.” Walsh 13 Again, fire elemental language is used to understand Amaranta’s relationship with love. Ashes are the remains of burned objects, the products of fire. As previously discussed, fire is an element of sexual purity for Vesta and her virginal cult members (Worsfold 19). This line can be used to understand Amaranta’s virginal vow: when she singed her hand in the fire—taking an oath bearing striking similarities to the pagan Roman cult—she not only burned her hand, but also burned down her ability to love with “youthful passion” (García Márquez 138). Her virginal vow, steeped in sterile understandings of love, removed Amaranta’s natural state of romance and passion, replacing it instead with Crespi’s “icy” approach to relationships (109). However, this approach to romance and chastity—as it did with Crespi—stifles the relationship between Amaranta and Gerineldo, instead causing further personal pain. When Gerineldo repeats his desires to marry her, Amaranta rejects him, stating, “I’m not going to marry anyone…much less you” (138). While one could perceive Gerineldo’s and Amaranta’s relationship as further evidence of Amaranta’s status as a femme fatale, I contend that Gerineldo’s inability to relate to Amaranta’s vestal and Catholic virginal values makes him an imperfect match that Amaranta must reject. Their insufficient compatibility is illustrated when Gerineldo brings Amaranta “a prayer book bound in mother-of-pearl,” which I argue is Gerineldo’s attempt to relate to Amaranta’s Catholic virginal values (162). However, Amaranta explains her rejection of him: “How strange men are…they spend their lives fighting against priests and then give prayer books as gifts” (162). This comment relates directly to Macondo; the tense situation between this town’s Liberals and Conservatives is bound up in the very same traditional values system that Amaranta is a corporeal representation of—Roman Catholicism. The Conservative government in Macondo is essentially a continuation of Catholic values. García Márquez describes the Conservative government’s metacognitive thoughts: they Walsh 14 feel that they have “received their power directly from God” and that “they [are] the defenders of the faith of Christ” (95). As an extension of the Catholic Church’s arm in Macondo, the Conservative government “propose[s] the establishment of public order and family morality” (95). To preserve this morality, they prescribe virginity and sexual suppression as fail-safes to protect the city from liberalism, which is associated with sexual liberation. Amaranta, in our current reading of her, naturally finds her values closely aligned with conservatism.6 In contrast, liberalism, the cause for which Colonel Gerineldo fights, is presented as a rebellion “against [the] clerical influence” of the Catholic Church (168). In other words, Gerineldo’s political ties are a threat to one of the operating worldviews for Amaranta’s virginal values: Catholicism. While Gerineldo attempts to cross the political divide by offering Amaranta an appeasing religious present, he ultimately cannot bridge this gap.7 By exploring Amaranta as a corporeal representation of Catholic virginal values, we can understand the basis of her rejection in a new way: Amaranta rejects Gerineldo out of necessity because he stands as a threat to her worldview and to her virginal vow. Amaranta is ultimately unwilling to compromise her vestal and Catholic virginal values for Gerineldo. However, her actions following this short-lived romantic episode are puzzling; the text describes how she is “overcome by the unbearable weight of her own obstinacy” and how she subsequently “lock[s] herself in her bedroom to weep over her solitude unto death” (163). By reading this scene with the aid of vestal virginal characteristics, we can interpret a new understanding of this odd exchange. Her stubborn commitment to her vestal virginal vow leads Amaranta to isolate herself from the temptation of her suitor. Interestingly, Amaranta’s isolation can be compared to a vestal virgin’s live interment punishment. Historically, vestal virgins were buried alive only if they were unchaste; however, Amaranta inters herself for merely considering Walsh 15 breaking her vestal vow by falling in love with Gerineldo. Amaranta heightens her moral code, which revolves around her highly valued virginal standards that stem from Pietro Crespi. Because of these strong values, Amaranta punishes herself using a retribution fit for a vestal virgin: interring herself into her bedroom, symbolically burying herself and her sexual life. The vestal virgin’s live interment policy—when reinterpreted in this manner—causes both Amaranta and Gerineldo pain by leading to sexual repression. Amaranta is described as “biting back her secret tears” and putting “her fingers in her ears so as to not hear the voice of the suitor…in spite of the fact that she was dying to see him” (138). By punishing herself for falling in love with Gerineldo and therefore risking her virginal vow, Amaranta experiences immense pain. Not only is she suffering, but also her self-inflicted isolation ultimately leads to sexual repression. Amaranta strengthens her vestal vow and forces herself to remain chaste by ending yet another romantic relationship. This self-imposed chastity, seen when she locks herself in her bedroom, essentially sterilizes her as it did when she rejected Crespi. By interring herself alive and by forcing virginity upon herself, Amaranta’s bedroom is destined to forever be filled with solitude and sterility. These vestal virginal values not only harm Amaranta, but they also extend outside of her personal sphere and affect Gerineldo. While Amaranta has no desire to upset Gerineldo and would “always find a way to reject him without hurting him,” the pain of Amaranta’s forced sterilization and live interment causes the colonel to become “lost in solitude” and haunts Gerineldo to his deathbed (163). Gerineldo reflects on how he had “escaped three attempts on his life, survived five wounds, and emerged unscathed from innumerable battles,” but had sunk “into the miserable defeat of old age, thinking of Amaranta” (242). He, like Amaranta, remains celibate until his death; not only do Amaranta’s virginal vows sterilize herself, but also they Walsh 16 seem to spread even to Gerineldo’s sexual life. He dies a lonely man thinking of his past lover. The damaging nature of Amaranta’s vestal virginal vow on Gerineldo’s life is shown to be even more destructive than war: war causes Gerineldo less pain than Amaranta’s traditional virginal values. Up to this point, we have seen how the worldviews of Vesta’s cult and Catholicism’s virginal values aid in interpreting Amaranta’s actions and life. Her valuing of virginity and purity is engrained within her from her great-great-great-grandmother, is reinforced after Crespi’s death in the form of Catholic penance and a burning virginal vow, and is underscored with Amaranta’s rejection of Gerineldo and her subsequent vestal virginal punishment of live interment. This trend continues in Amaranta’s interactions with her nephew Aureliano José and with her great-great-nephew, José Arcadio V.8 By utilizing the unique characteristics found within the cult of Vesta and Catholicism, we can uncover further insights into Amaranta’s role within One Hundred Years of Solitude. Amaranta, after symbolically sealing herself into her barren bedroom, never officially breaks her virginal vows; she never experiences sex. However, this virginal isolation leads to a sterility that defines her life throughout her subsequent romantic interactions. Amaranta dances dangerously along the lines between promiscuity and celibacy, incestuous play and intercourse with her young wards. These near-incestual relationships have a unique tie specifically to vestal virginity; within the cult of Vesta, the term “incestus” or “incestum” applied to any sexual activity, no matter with whom (Worsfold 63). Because vestal virgins were protectors of the Roman state—and as such were symbolic representations of Rome—any sexual activity was deemed incestual because vestal virgins were the emblematic sisters of all Romans. Therefore, failure to uphold their virginal vows endangered the state at large, risking the gods’ wrath to Walsh 17 befall Rome (Kroppenberg 428-29). This connection between incest and unchastity with religious consequences and damage to society is mirrored in Amaranta’s destructive, near-incestual relationships with the boys. These descriptions of incestual actions throughout Amaranta’s dealings with her two young wards again underscore the destructive nature of these Ancient Roman and Catholic understandings of virginity to Amaranta, her wards, and Macondo. Let us begin with Aureliano José, the first child whom Amaranta incestually teases. This disturbing familial sexual encounter occurs when Aureliano José, who regularly shared a bed with Amaranta when he was growing up, awakens to “Amaranta’s fingers searching across his stomach like warm and anxious little caterpillars” (García Márquez 142). What I find especially thought-provoking about this encounter is that Aureliano José feels “the hand without the black bandage diving like a blind shellfish into the algae of his anxiety” (142). Amaranta attempts to justify her near-incestual relationship by keeping her bandaged hand—a symbol of her obsession with Pietro Crespi’s European culture and of her vestal virginal burn—physically distant from this sexual encounter. Not only does an understanding of vestal virginity help us interpret this scene anew, but also Catholicism’s sacred text, the Bible, enables us to further analyze this moment’s virginal and sexual significance. This scene recalls the biblical verse of Matthew 6:3, which states, “Do not let your left hand know what your right is doing” (New Oxford Annotated Bible). Humorously, the Bible verse is twisted in this scene: Amaranta seems to apply a similar logic as the verse by quite literally not allowing one hand—the virginal vow hand—to know the near-incestual acts of the other, implying that Amaranta thinks if she keeps her virginal symbol away from this crime, she is not fully complicit in it. Walsh 18 However, her logic—as the reader may well guess—is flawed and this sexual act is ultimately destructive in nature: Amaranta instigates a dangerous, nearly incestual relationship with a minor, which permanently damages his life. Aureliano José, years later, deserts the federal troops he joined and returns home hoping to marry Amaranta (García Márquez 147). However, Amaranta avoids him, realizing that they are “floundering about in an autumnal passion, one that [is] dangerous and [has] no future” (143). Amaranta directly acknowledges this relationship is unhealthy and practically incestuous by stating, “It’s almost as if I were your mother, not just because of my age but because the only thing I didn’t do for you was nurse you” (148). In an effort to fortify herself from her incestual desires, Amaranta draws on her Catholic virginal values: she tries “not to become separated from Remedios,” the Virgin Mary figure within One Hundred Years of Solitude, perhaps hoping she will draw moral strength from Remedios (147). However, despite Amaranta’s best attempts to avoid Aureliano José and protect her vestal and Catholic virginal values, Aureliano José confronts Amaranta and asks “how long she intend[s on] wearing the black bandage on her hand” (147). Significantly, Amaranta embarrassingly blushes with the innocence of a typical virginal figure, interpreting the bandage “as an allusion to her virginity” (147). Here, our understanding of this black bandage as a vestal virginal vow is underscored by Amaranta herself, allowing us to feel confident in our usage of vestal and Catholic virginal values to interpret her textual significance. Additionally, we see how the black bandage has evolved as a symbol: its original association with Pietro Crespi’s own black bandage—a representation of his chilling Catholic chastity—has further solidified into a symbol unique to Amaranta: an emblem of her vestal virginal vow. Nevertheless, Aureliano José cares not about Amaranta’s virginal vow and wants her to remove this black bandage. His logic reveals the mental damage that Amaranta’s near-incestual Walsh 19 teasing has wrought upon him: Aureliano José wants to marry his aunt so badly that he directly asks her to disavow her lifelong vestal virginal vow. Amaranta’s loophole within her virginal vow—using her uncovered hand to toy with Aureliano José, which relieves her sexual desires while still protecting her virginity—backfires by causing irreparable mental damage to Aureliano José and by passing these incestual desires onto him. The ironic damage stemming from Amaranta’s vestal vow is further underscored when Colonel Aureliano Buendía, Amaranta’s brother, sees her black bandage and knows “that Amaranta had consecrated her virginal widowhood to the rearing of Aureliano José” (124). Again, the black bandage—used to cover Amaranta’s burn by vestal fire and to serve as a reminder of her infatuation with Crespi’s European values—is recognized by another Macondon citizen as a virginal vow. Interestingly, the colonel immediately identifies this virginal symbol with the idea of sterility, seen when he describes it as a “virginal widowhood” (124). Widows, who by definition lack their husbands, are seen as celibate mourning figures. Similarly, we can interpret Amaranta’s black bandage—a sign of her celibacy—as sterilizing her love life into one comparable to a widow’s. Ironically, this virginal vow is also associated with Aureliano José; Amaranta apparently feels her virginal status makes her capable of raising this boy. However, the sterility of her vestal virginal vow causes her still-existent sexual impulses to manifest as incestual teasing. While Amaranta feels she can act almost like a Catholic nun and raise a child safely because she is virginal, Amaranta only serves to pervert Aureliano José. Despite Aureliano José’s mental damage and the colonel’s recognition of Amaranta’s values as sterile, Amaranta oddly places the blame for this near-incestual relationship squarely on Aureliano José. She chastises her nephew, stating, “You can’t do that to a poor aunt unless Walsh 20 you have a special dispensation from the Pope” (149). This humorous statement reflects Amaranta’s valuing of church hierarchy to override her Catholic virginal vows. By utilizing Catholicism to understand Amaranta, we can see why she places so much weight on the Pope—the earthly leader of the Catholic Church. However, Aureliano José undermines wittily Amaranta’s Catholic values by promising to visit Rome and “kiss the sandals of the Pontiff just so that she would lower her drawbridge” (149). The idea of a virginal woman being compared to a castle that must be penetrated has been a long-standing romantic euphemism in literature. However, associating a woman with a city also bears an eerie resemblance to Vesta’s cult. As previously mentioned, vestal virgins were corporeal representations of the Eternal City, and, as Parker explains, were “specially set apart in order to incarnate the impregnable boundaries of Rome. When Rome was subject to violence, it was because she [a vestal virgin] had been violated” (587). This linkage between virginity and Rome is ultimately seen in “the symbolic function of the Vestal’s virginity. Just as she embodied the city of Rome, so her unpenetrated body was a metaphor for the unpenetrated walls of Rome” (568). Amaranta is similarly treated as a city when Aureliano José asks to “lower her drawbridge,” presumably referring, once again, to her vestal virginal black bandage—the barrier to his penetrative desires. Understanding Amaranta as a vestal virginal symbol aids us in interpreting her near-incestual relationship and in understanding Aureliano José’s comparison of Amaranta to a city. Consequently, Amaranta also appears to see herself as this vestal virginal embodiment of Macondo. Amaranta responds to Aureliano José’s city-to-be-penetrated request: “‘It’s not just that,’ Amaranta retorted. ‘Any children will be born with the tail of a pig’” (García Márquez 149). This line refers to how Amaranta, like her grandmother and her great-great-great-Walsh 21 grandmother, is paralyzed by the fear of the Buendía curse: the pig’s tail. This curse states that any child conceived incestually will be born with a pig’s tail; this birth is believed to bring about the destruction of both the family line and Macondo and, in fact, is exactly what occurs in the final chapters of One Hundred Years of Solitude. To guard against this curse, which threatens the town’s very existence, Amaranta appears to act as the defender of Macondo, just as vestal virgins represented the Eternal City’s protection. She reminds her nephew of the curse and ultimately rejects Aureliano José’s increasing advances. By using vestal virginity to understand Amaranta, her desire to protect Macondo from this incestual curse can be linked to her staunch identity in vestal and Catholic virginal values. Curious parallels to the cult of Vesta, and specifically to the vestals’ cruel entombment penalty, continue in one peculiar textual moment. After her dismissal of Aureliano José, Amaranta’s actions again reflect the vestal virginal punishment: she “reject[s] him with an inflexible and unmistakable determination, and she bar[s] the door of her bedroom forever” (149). With this quote—which fittingly serves as part of this paper’s title—Amaranta symbolically buries herself in the sterile grave of her bedroom just as she did after rejecting Gerineldo. We can interpret this act as Amaranta punishing herself for nearly allowing her body to be penetrated by Aureliano José and, by extension, for almost bringing about Macondo’s destruction. Amaranta’s bedroom, forever devoid of sexual pleasure, again returns to its state of sterility and pain after the rebuff of Gerineldo. Amaranta’s live interment policy contains not only vestal virginal parallels, but also Catholic counterparts. The pain of Amaranta’s live entombment is so great that she views herself as a Catholic martyr suffering for her virginal cause: “for the first time in more than forty years [Amaranta sees] her face, devastated by age and martyrdom, and she [is] surprised at how much Walsh 22 she resembled the mental image that she had of herself” (282). Amaranta understands her virginity as a sacrifice, a sacrifice perhaps linked to her desire to protect Macondo from the incestual curse. Her role as Macondo’s protecting vestal virgin forces Amaranta into her damaging sterile bedroom, causing her to suffer like a Catholic martyr. This intertwining of both vestal and Catholic practices strengthens Amaranta’s drive toward virginity, which, as we have seen, ultimately leads to sterility and pain. The presence of Catholic symbolism continues in relation to Amaranta’s black bandage; its meaning evolves from solely symbolizing Amaranta’s virginal vows to also representing her need for religious atonement. Amaranta views herself as a soon-to-be martyr struggling to protect Macondo from the pig’s tail curse. However, her near-incestual acts with Aureliano José jeopardize her status as a virgin and, in turn, compromise Macondo’s safety; the black bandage, an ever-present reminder of Amaranta’s virginal vow, symbolically changes with these mistakes. The text transforms the bandage into an object “of terrible expiation” that continually reminds Amaranta of her near-failures as a virgin (219). The use of this religious word “expiation” recalls the Catholic emphasis on salvation and atonement for wrongdoings; thus, the bandage evolves into a constant reminder of Amaranta’s need for religious penitence. This interpretation of the black bandage underscores our analysis of Amaranta: Amaranta, by labeling her virginal vow symbol with Catholic salvific language, reveals the high emphasis Amaranta places on Catholicism as a lens for understanding her own virginity. Despite her martyrdom, Amaranta’s virginal values continue to sexually suppress her and manifest as damaging incest. In a different incident that remarkably parallels Aureliano José’s case, Amaranta plays with another one of her young wards, her great-great-nephew José Arcadio. The narrative describes their relationship uniquely by only discussing their nearly incestuous Walsh 23 connection after Amaranta has died. However, the overvaluing of ancient Roman virginal ideals and Catholic values is still shown to cause these incestual desires that damage both Amaranta’s and José Arcadio’s personal lives. Amaranta is initially attracted to her great-great-nephew because of his embodiment of her highly valued Catholic ideals. From the beginning of José Arcadio’s character introduction, he is described humorously in relation to Catholicism: Úrsula wants him to become the “Supreme Pontiff” (245). His perfume, which Úrsula had given him so that he would smell like the Pope, “impregnate[s]” the room with a “penetrating fragrance” (252). This play-on-words links Catholicism to sexuality within José Arcadio’s character, establishing that he will both personify these “penetrating” Catholic values and “impregnate” the surrounding world in a sexually suggestive manner. José Arcadio, contradictorily, is both a symbol of Catholicism and sexuality, standing in stark contrast to the typical image of a celibate papal figure. This combination of Catholic celibate expectations and José Arcadio’s sexuality naturally entices Amaranta, who is historically prone to these European values and struggles with her own sexual desires. Amaranta is further attracted to José Arcadio because he possesses striking parallels to Pietro Crespi. The text directly compares Amaranta’s great-great-nephew to Crespi: José Arcadio “exchanged it [his suit] for some tight-fitting pants very similar to those worn by Pietro Crespi” (367). José Arcadio additionally surrounds himself with European glory that Crespi, as a stylish Italian, would have been associated with, such as “exotic clothing, false perfumes, and cheap jewelry” and a “shabby robe with golden dragons on it and a pair of slippers with yellow tassels” (366, 367). Not only is José Arcadio a papal figure, but he also exhibits odd fashion parallels to Crespi, naturally making him an alluring individual for Amaranta. Walsh 24 The similarities between Crespi and José Arcadio continue. Like Crespi, José Arcadio’s virginal and celibate values foster a fear of sexuality, which is seen in his fear that women are sexual objects “who would ruin his blood” and “who [would bear] children with the tail of a pig” (368). The only way to avoid these sexual fears is for José Arcadio to cling tightly to Catholic celibacy values. José Arcadio, by wearing clothes which are similar to Crespi’s and therefore hearken back to Amaranta’s self-described second homeland of Italy, and by esteeming the same purity laws that Amaranta values, naturally attracts Amaranta. José Arcadio essentially becomes the perfect outlet for Amaranta’s sexual suppression stemming from her live interment. The first mention of this near-incestuous relationship occurs when José Arcadio—now an adult—comforts himself by imagining “the caresses of Amaranta in the bath and the pleasure of being powdered between the legs with a silk puff” (369). This fantasy is a flashback to Amaranta inappropriately touching José Arcadio during his bath time routine. Again, Amaranta’s incestual teasing injures her young ward’s psyche, just as it had damaged Aureliano José. This harm is seen when José Arcadio, in Rome pursuing Úrsula’s papal dream for his life, “had opened his eyes in the middle of his sleep and had seen Amaranta rising out of a marble-edged pool with her lace petticoats and the bandage on her hand, idealized by the anxiety of exile” (367). José Arcadio finds himself sexually attracted to his elderly aunt despite his Catholic purity laws and his call to papal chastity. Interestingly, José Arcadio fixates on Amaranta in her virginal state and imagines her simultaneously wearing sexualized lace petticoats and the black bandage. This juxtapositioning of lingerie with Amaranta’s vestal virginal vow symbol—her black bandage—shows the end result of Amaranta’s incestual teasing: personal psychological harm to José Arcadio. Walsh 25 This damage from Amaranta, fueled by her vestal virginal vow’s resulting sexual repression, culminates in the ultimate destruction for José Arcadio: being killed by children whose actions bear eerie similarities to Amaranta’s. José Arcadio, in an odd moment, has neighborhood children ritualistically bathe him, powder him dry, and dress him. These interactions exactly parallel how Amaranta touched him inappropriately during his bath time routine: José Arcadio floats on his back while the children bathe him—placing José Arcadio in the same physical position in which Amaranta would caress him (370)—and powder his naked body—just as Amaranta had done with her silk puff. Eventually, these children drown José Arcadio in his pool. By creating this connection between the children and Amaranta, we can observe how Amaranta’s treatment of José Arcadio—mirrored in these young children—is linked to José Arcadio’s death. The children powder José Arcadio and then murder him, just as Amaranta sexually touched young José Arcadio’s body and irreparably damaged his psyche. The psychological harm echoes even after José Arcadio’s death; when his body is found in the pool, the text describes his corpse as “still thinking about Amaranta” (375). Even in death, José Arcadio remains fixated on his elderly aunt, whose virginity and purity he had sexualized; Amaranta, in turn, near-incestually touched him because of her sexual repression stemming from her vestal virginal vow and because of her attraction to his Catholic values. Amaranta’s virginal significance as a representation of vestal and Catholic virginal values is continued in her death and funeral scenes. While Amaranta weaves her burial shroud in preparation for her death, she is described as carrying “the cross of ashes of virginity on her forehead. In reality she carried it on her hand in the black bandage, which she did not take off even to sleep and which she washed and ironed herself” (258-59). Two interesting aspects Walsh 26 emerge from this quotation: the continuation of fire language and Catholic symbolism in relation to virginity and the connection between Amaranta’s virginal black bandage and her burial shroud. This “cross of ashes” combines the obvious Catholic imagery of the cross of Christ with the elemental fire language of “ashes,” which have ties to the cult of Vesta’s eternally lit flame. This fire, a symbol of virginal devotion to this chaste goddess, is combined with the cross, a symbol of pain and suffering. We can interpret the intertwining of these two religious systems’ focuses on virginal devotion and suffering as a commentary on Amaranta’s virginal vow. Thus far, we have seen how Amaranta’s virginal vow, marked by a burn, has ultimately caused suffering both in the form of Amaranta’s sterility and sexual repression and in the damage she causes her lovers and young wards. The imagery-based combination of these two Roman religious systems uniquely reflects the suffering caused by Amaranta’s vestal vow. By symbolically equating her virginal vows with an execution device like a cross, we can surmise that these vows lead to personal ruination. This destruction continues through Amaranta’s final scenes of sexual frustration before her death. Amaranta feels nostalgic before death, occasionally listens to the waltzes which Pietro Crespi had brought from Italy, and weeps heavily afterward (277). She tries to distract herself from the music, which “kept spinning and playing in her memory,” by “sink[ing] them [the songs] into the swampy passion that she allowed herself with her nephew Aureliano José,” burying them “in the calm and virile protection of Colonel Gerineldo Márquez,” and suppressing them in the memories of “when she would bathe the small José Arcadio three years before he was sent to the seminary and caress him not as a grandmother would have done with a grandchild, but as a woman would have done with a man…and as she had wanted to do with Walsh 27 Pietro Crespi” (277). Amaranta’s nostalgia for a life filled with love and sexual intercourse is never realized because of her virginal vows; these vows stifle her sexuality, which she tries to bury within “the swampy passion” of her near-incestual and destructive relationships with her young wards and with her love of Colonel Márquez. Before her death, this sterile and virginal life flashes before her eyes as moments of nostalgia for Pietro Crespi, moments in which she had the opportunity for sexual intercourse but denied it due to her vows. Amaranta continues to bear striking parallels to vestal virgins up until her death. She possesses a fear that the citizens of Macondo “[will] bury her alive in their confusion” (281). Again, the text can be read as mirroring a vestal virgin’s greatest fear: undergoing the live interment punishment for breaking chastity. However, while in our past textual examples Amaranta willingly buries herself into her room, in this instance Amaranta fears that others will bury her alive. Amaranta, at her death, perhaps fully realizes the destruction her sexual repression and subsequent incestual desires created, and fears a community reprisal fitting for a flawed vestal virgin. In an attempt to escape this fearful punishment, and to cleanse her conscience, Amaranta undergoes redemptive acts that can be compared to Catholic penance. She feels that she can “make up for a life of meanness” and near-incestual relationships by delivering messages from Macondon citizens to their deceased loved ones (280). In another attempt to vindicate herself, Amaranta demands that Úrsula publically testify to Amaranta’s life-long virginity. For Amaranta, the purpose of her life is to embody these Ancient Roman and Catholic understandings of virginity; this fixation is manifested in her frantic desire for her identity to be both currently and posthumously linked to her virginal vow. Úrsula’s testimony essentially purifies Amaranta from her near-incestual relationships—which mar her embodiment of vestal Walsh 28 and Catholic virginal values—by solidifying Amaranta as a pure and virginal figure in her community’s psyche. These penance attempts appear to be successful, at least in Amaranta’s mind. When Father Antonio Isabel asks during her last rites if she wants to confess, Amaranta “answer[s] simply that she [does] not need spiritual help of any kind because her conscious [is] clean” (281). Perhaps she no longer feels any guilt for the destructive nature of her virginal vows and therefore loses her fear of live interment. However, the text offers another potential explanation for Amaranta’s rejection of a final confession: Fernanda, Amaranta’s grandniece-in-law, wonders “what horrible sin Amaranta had committed to make her prefer an impious death to the shame of a confession” (281-82). Fernanda does not, of course, know of Amaranta’s nearly incestuous relationships with the boys. But her suggestion is intriguing: perhaps Amaranta, haunted by the damage her vows wrought upon Pietro Crespi, Colonel Gerineldo Márquez, Aureliano José, and José Arcadio, is unwilling to confess her sins to the priest. Confessing this destruction to a priest, a member of the Catholic Church’s hierarchy, would be shameful for Amaranta, who so highly values Catholicism’s virginal ideals. Instead, Amaranta decides to die without admitting her incestual desires, not willing to risk experiencing shame from Catholic hierarchy or live interment for nearly breaking her vestal vow. In either interpretation of Amaranta’s rejection of confession, Amaranta’s fixation on her virginity is strongly tied to Catholicism throughout her death scenes. When Amaranta dies, she can be seen as both a fully realized vestal virgin and a Catholic martyr for her virginal values: she pass away as an “aged virgin, ugly and discolored, with the black bandage on her hand” (282). Even in death, Amaranta is wed to her black bandage—a reminder of her obsession with vestal and Catholic virginal values, and of her commitment to a Walsh 29 vestal vow. Amaranta overvalues virginity throughout her life, and on her deathbed her virginal status remains predictably present in the text. In both the cult of Vesta and Catholicism, a heightened emphasis on virginity is woven throughout religious doctrines and worship practices. Amaranta bears striking parallels to several unique characteristics found within vestal and Catholic understandings of virginity. Vestal virginal parallels appear in Amaranta’s associations with fire, her focus on physical purity, and her fear of live interment. Catholic equivalents surface when Amaranta, overcome with guilt, appears to utilize acts of penance to purify herself, which resemble Catholic absolution rituals. Furthermore, she views herself as a martyr for her virginal cause, reflecting the Catholic Church’s emphasis on martyrdom. As seen in her romantic relationships with Pietro Crespi and Gerineldo Márquez, and in her near-incestual relationships with Aureliano José and José Arcadio, Amaranta’s insistence on embodying these traditional virginal values ultimately causes pain to herself, to the men she rejects, and to the children she harms. Vestal and Catholic virginal ideals, ironically thought to preserve societies, lead only to destruction in Macondo. These pagan and classical understandings of virginity further expand our interpretation of Amaranta and our analysis of virginity’s impact on this colossal novel. The importance of Amaranta’s role in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude becomes clear once we understand how deeply Amaranta represents European virginal values and how these values lead to sterility, sexual repression, and incestual desires that harm Amaranta, her lovers, and her young wards irreversibly. Walsh 30 Notes 1 The Spanish phrase “la bella” translates to “the beauty.” Critics choose to call this character either by her original name, “Remedios, la bella,” or by her translated name, “Remedios the Beauty.” This paper, in the few times she is mentioned, will refer to this character as “Remedios, la bella” or “Remedios.” 2 I stumbled upon the intriguing knowledge that the Spanish name Amaranta carries etymological and mythological associations with virginity. While this information is not directly applicable to my textual analysis of Amaranta, I find this knowledge valuable in understanding the virginal implications of her name. Etymologically, ‘Amaranta’ derives from the Greek word amárantos, meaning unfading. Amárantos is partially fused with the Greek word ánthos, meaning flower; a flower bearing this name was sacred to Artemis, a virginal Greek goddess whose mythical female hunting entourage resembled the virginal followers of Vesta. The name also has religious connotations; in the 13th century, the variant word “amaranth” became an attribute of the Catholic Virgin Mary and carried associations with purity and virginity. The name ‘Amaranta,’ affiliated with both Artemis and Mary, underscores the virginal nature of Gabriel García Márquez’s character. Additionally, these etymological and mythological derivations combine to associate Amaranta with an everlasting flower. In literature, a rich trope exists that connects flowers with sexuality—namely that ‘deflowering’ a woman alludes to a loss of her virginity. By applying this knowledge to One Hundred Years of Solitude’s Amaranta¸ we can further analyze her virginal values. Amaranta mirrors an everlasting flower: her virginity—like the immortal blossom—never fades or is “deflowered.” As this paper will show, Amaranta truly embodies her name’s etymological and mythological associations. For more information on the winding etymological and historic-mythic background of the name Amaranta, refer to Mihai Walsh 31 Costea and François J. Tardiff’s “The Name of the Amaranth: Histories of Meaning” (www.jstor.org/stable/41968150). 3 By pagan, I am not referring to the new movements in paganist religions today, but instead to views of virginity seen in specific Ancient Roman myths and religious practice. 4 Throughout this essay, I will be using the only official English translation of García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, done by Gregory Rabassa. While, of course, a translation always leaves some gap between the original language and its meaning, I believe this particular English translation minimizes this gap well. Rabassa was a highly skilled translator used extensively by Latin American greats such as Julio Cortázar and Jorge Amado. Because of Cortázar’s glowing recommendation of Rabassa, García Márquez waited three years to schedule a translation with him. Once the English rendition was completed, García Márquez joked that Rabassa’s translation was better than his original work; this jest reflects García Márquez’s approval of this translation and underscores its legitimacy as a rendition which accurately reflects García Márquez’s writing idiosyncrasies. 5 While this quote’s vague usage of “they” contextually refers to the last Buendías, Aureliano and Amaranta Úrsula, this word can also presumably refer to Drake and to Amaranta’s great-great-great-grandmother. Sir Francis Drake’s rape triggers the incestual curse’s domino effect that, through Aureliano and Amaranta Úrsula, ultimately destroys Macondo. If one understands Drake’s actions as a rape, then one can understand why this historical reference is included in One Hundred Years of Solitude’s concluding passage. 6 One could expand this point into its own separate essay, where one would contend that Amaranta’s conflict with Colonel Márquez stems from their differing political allegiances. Walsh 32 However, for the purposes of this essay, this intriguing point does not contribute to our discussion of virginity and will therefore not be expanded. 7 These descriptions of liberalism and conservatism are used throughout One Hundred Years of Solitude to comment on Colombia’s political situation. One could analyze these Colombian political commentaries and their links to virginity and sterility; however, this essay chooses to center itself specifically on the fictional Macondo. Because of this tighter focus, I do not discuss the less related—but still extremely intriguing—real-world political aspect. 8 From this point onward, I will refer to José Arcadio V as “José Arcadio.” Walsh 33 Works Cited Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. “The danger of a single story.” TedGlobal, July 2009, www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story. Bady, Aaron. “Founding and Rape: Teaching One Hundred Years of Solitude, part two.” Zunguzungu, 22 Feb. 2010, www.zunguzungu.wordpress.com/2010/02/22/founding-and-rape-teaching-one-hundred-years-of-solitude-part-two/. Brantl, George., editor. Catholicism. George Braziller, 1961. “Femme Fatale.” Cambridge Dictionary. Cambridge University Press, 2016. dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/femme-fatale García Márquez, Gabriel. One Hundred Years of Solitude. HarperPerennial, 2006. Kroppenberg, Inge. “Law, Religion, and Constitution of the Vestal Virgins.” Law & Literature, vol. 22, no. 3, Fall 2010, pp. 418-439, www.heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/lal22&div=26. McBrien, Richard P. Catholicism, vol. 2. Winston Press, 1980. McMurray, George R. Gabriel García Márquez. Ungar, 1977. The New Oxford Annotated Bible, 4th ed., Editor, Michael D. Coogan, Oxford University Press, 2010. Parker, Holt N. “Why Were the Vestals Virgins? Or the Chastity of Women and the Safety of the Roman State.” The American Journal of Philology, vol. 125, no. 4, Winter 2004, pp. 563-601, www.jstor.org/stable/1562224. Penuel, Arnold M. “Death and the Maiden: Demythologization of Virginity in García Márquez’s Cien años de soledad.” Hispania, vol. 66, no. 4, Dec. 1983, pp. 552-560, www.jstor.org/stable/341466. Walsh 34 ---. Intertextuality in García Márquez. Spanish Literature Publications Company, 1994. Pollitt, Ronald L. “Francis Drake.” Salem Press Biographical Encyclopedia. Research Starters, Jan. 2016. Worsfold, T. Cato. The History of the Vestal Virgins in Rome. The Mayflower Press, 1934. Walsh 35 Acknowledgments I would like to thank several people who have guided me throughout this academic endeavor. Four months ago, I was floundering between several research topics. Though I was certain I wished to study Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, I was lacking a precise research focus. Dr. Ana Eire, Dr. Lori Snook, and Stacy Collins all sacrificed their time to meet with me, encouraged me in my undertaking, and provided me with much-needed guidance. Additionally, my blood family—Mom, Dad, and Kelly—as well as my Stetson family—Alexis Guyton and Elizabeth Cirri—have been my rocks; their love and support during this intensive semester gave me the peace of mind and the endurance necessary to push forward. Next, I must thank my friend and unofficial editor, Richelle Braswell. Nearly every paper I have written since sophomore year has, in some form, passed through her hands (or rather, onto her computer screen). Her masterful edits have both improved my essays and fine-tuned my grammatical prowess. More importantly, her friendship, support, and firm critiques have pushed me to higher levels of academic and creative writing—perhaps more than any other catalyst. I can never fully convey how indebted I am to her and how much I enjoy our friendship. Richelle, if you are reading this, I truly hope there are no mistakes to catch—though I’m sure you’ve already pinpointed excellent spots to edit. Finally, I would like to thank Dr. Grady Ballenger. Four years ago, Dr. Ballenger became my academic advisor; this happenchance forever shaped my life’s trajectory. He has since acted as my professor, mentor, and encourager; his wise guidance has both inspired and pushed me “onward!” as he always states, throughout my Stetson career. If someday I become half the professor Dr. Ballenger has been for countless students, my life will truly have been impactful. Walsh 36 Author’s Note Lynn Walsh, a senior English major minoring in Spanish and religious studies, first fell in love with Gabriel García Márquez’s writings when she read his magically realistic short story, “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” during her sophomore year at Stetson University. Her study of García Márquez’s magnum opus, One Hundred Years of Solitude¸ interprets Amaranta Buendía’s traditional virginal constructs as destructive forces both for Amaranta and for those with whom she interacts. After a few gaps years—working perhaps as a writer or editor—Lynn hopes to enroll in a literature-focused graduate program. Ultimately, Lynn desires a peaceful life with her loved ones, and longs to impact her future students’ lives and her chosen academic field.