Carta de la Condesa de Revilla de Camargo contra Fidel Castro su expropiador.

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Carta de la Condesa de Revilla de Camargo contra Fidel Castro su expropiador. Quien escribió esta carta debió ser la antigua propietaria del palacete que hoy es Museo de Artes Decorativas de La Habana: María Luisa Gómez-Mena y Villa. Muchas veces ha sido confundida con su sobrina del mismo nombre, galerista de pintura cubana, productora de cine, mecenas retratada por Carlos Enríquez. Y es de suponer que estaríamos también confundiéndola si la asociamos con la condesa mencionada por Hubert de Givenchy, pues en 1959 María Luisa Gómez-Mena y Villa contaba con 79 años y difícilmente pretendería enfundarse en un traje de camuflaje. Según los elencos de nobleza, el título (ella había sido condesa… More
Who wrote this letter should have been the former owner of the palace that is today the Museum of Decorative Arts in Havana: Maria Luisa Gomez-Mena and Villa. Many times she has been confused with her niece of the same name, Cuban painting gallerist, film producer, patrons portrayed by Carlos Enriquez. And it is presumably that we would also be confusing her if we associate her with the countess mentioned by Hubert de Givenchy, because in 1959 Maria Luisa Gomez-Mena and Villa was 79 years old and would hardly pretend to be in a camouflage suit. According to the casts of nobility, the title (she had been a widow and childless countess) passed in 1953 to her husband’s nephew, and she must have been the wife of that other count’s client of the French fashionist. So there are in this story two eccentric countesses of Revilla de Camargo: the one always accompanied by her jewels and the one who was able to write a public letter to her expropriator. Of these two, the last one we are interested in. Upon finally leaving Havana, he left a nephew in charge of his mansion and, when his nephew also left, the house was intervened by the new regime and opened to the public as a museum in 1964. Oscar B collection. Tapes. The Museum of Decorative Arts constituted a good pedagogical resource: it offered the people art lessons and political lessons. His visitors could see how rich people lived and how detached the new leaders were, who put everything on display without hoarding anything. In 1961 (other sources give 1963 as date) were discovered behind a fake jewelry wall and fine silverware. The rescue operation of that treasure was understood to be dismantling a political plot. For the crime of amassing wealth at the expense of the people, the perfidy of hiding the goods left behind came to add. And still in 2003, the walls of the mansion were able to offer surprises: velvet panels in need of restoration and retreat showed five 2003th-century French paintings that masked. Letter to an expropriator At the beginning of the revolutionary regime, Maria Luisa Gomez-Mena and Villa addressed this public letter to Fidel Castro. As far as I can find out, it was published by Ernesto Montaner in Patria, a small Miami newspaper. Letter from the Countess of Revilla de Camargo to Dr. Fidel Castro Doctor Fidel Castro: Notice I call him ′′ doctor ′′ instead of ′′ sir “. And don’t be surprised. I’m willing to call him ′′ Premier “, ′′ Commander “, ′′ President “, and all that, in one way or another, ′′ you get “. But I would never say ′′ sir “, because not that “, you come “, you are born. And you were not born sir, Doctor. This last coma explains everything; from its congenital inferiority to the destruction of our homeland. Because commas, Doctor, have too much importance in our language; that same language that you spoil and destroy with identical cruelty with which you destroy and spoil other things. But observe that a badly placed coma can transform not only Grammar, but even history, because if instead of saying, ′′ and you were not born sir, doctor “, say ′′ and you were not born, sir, doctor “, would be offending the Lords, Cuba and God, Our Lord. And now, with commas and points in place, let’s go on to discuss a subject that enrages you and me entertains me and even amuses me: the social report. The other night you took it against the chroniclers and against society. Above all, against society. It explains: that is the only ′′ latifundio ′′ destroyed and confiscated without prejudice to his family. Oh, that hatred of society of yours It’s irreconcilable. How can you walk through life with so much hatred? It’s incomprehensible. And more so on who-like you-had to climb, because you’ve achieved everything by climbing and climbing. Didn’t the hatred weigh too much? Didn’t he get in the way? Naive question. He wasn’t in the way. If I had hindered him, I would have suppressed him. How he suppressed what has hindered him. From Camilo Cienfuegos, to ′′ parental authority ′′ which is in fact already abolished, or moved as a ′′ social function ′′ of the state. You doctor hate everything. But it’s logical: he hates what he never had and never had anything. If you didn’t inspire me so much disgust, I would feel for you a deep shame and even human compassion. If it was seen! It’s so abominable! It’s so repulsive that it has made humanity feel for you what you’ve always felt for humanity: disgust, repulsion and disrespect. Therefore, the other night, when derailing in the rain-because it was raining torrentially-you were throwing poisoned darts of your insults and slander against Cuban society, you should transport me-mental transportation, do not be illusions-to my residence of the Vedado, stolen and tiznada by the ′′ Premier Ali Baba and his forty thousand thieves “. And I blew my imagination away. I saw you, at my table, with six militias, two Russians, one Chinese,-the Chinese was not Kuchilan-two Czechoslovakians and Almeida. Eating Russian style, from today’s Russia, where all profanity is foreseen. No to the Russian, as always served my table, which was the fine and elegant style of aristocratic and traditional Russia, whose high customs did not die under the criminal shrapnel that exterminated the Zar and his entire family. I saw them sticking their hands into caviar dishes and taking them to the big insatiable mouths, trying to clean up afterwards, mouths and hands, on the tablecloth. I also saw the plebe, with her born boss presiding over the table, drinking my champagne. My wineries champagne. And they didn’t sip it, they spilled it on the jaws, as if they’d throw it into the spillway. The comments from the literators had no waste. One of the militias said: – Those ′′ balls ′′ (caviar) don’t like them. Looks like fish flavored gravitas. And another one finishes: – I want beer or rum. This is very bitter. For me this cider wasted with so much time saved there. Almeida took advantage to put dialogue in her sauce: – The truth, mate Fidel, I prefer meat with potatoes and fried eggs with rice. In these ′′ fista ′′ meals, one stays like I haven’t eaten. And you didn’t say anything, Fidel, because saying something would have taken you a long time. Because one of the Russians would have had to translate it to the Russian partner, Czech colleagues and Chinese colleague. And that was going to overwhelm you the time you needed for something I warned in your eyes: the purpose of getting out of there, as soon as possible, to dive into a fonda of Chinese and ′′ banquet ′′ with a succulent dish of fried rice , with chop suey and fried butterflies. Don’t be surprised, Dr. Castro, ′′ cat doesn’t eat tomatoes “. And the gossip-as if a curse weighs on it-is allergic to champagne, caviar, thread tablecloth and glassware in Bohemia or baccarat. That’s why my house is as adverse to you and yours, as yours and you, to my house. It’s a logical consequence. And even a fair retaliation. I’m sick of his plague. And to you my perfume. Smelling will absolve me. You have stolen everything from me. You have held my house. You have turned my residence into a pigsty. Ah, but in sin he carries penance! In my house-wherever I want-there’s fine things and smell of clean and decency. She got scared the first time she came into it, didn’t she? See my revenge! All thieves, when they enter a house, scare the owners of the house. And that’s my revenge: you’re the only thief who entered was the scared. Does my revenge seem to you little? To me, God forgive me, it seems excessively cruel. From you, with all my perfume, Countess of Revilla of Camargo ·