
I love these little legends. The story of Our Lady of Meritxell goes that in the late 1100s a wild rose was found in bloom, out of season (January… in the mountains I suppose there should have been snow on the ground) and at the base of it the statue was found. It was taken to the Canillo church, but the next day it was found back under the wild rose. The statue got taken this time to the church of Encamp—but again it came back to the wild rose. The villagers then decided to build a chapel on that spot, and I imagine it is the holiest spot in Andorra. I say this because there is an almost identical story in Costa Rica, about the Black Virgin—there wasn’t a rose, but the same story of the disappearing/reappearing in the original place statue is told there, and the same types of stories crop up in other cultures. Given the importance of this patron saint to such a small country, it’s not surprising that Meritxell is a common name for Andorran women. Another story about Our Lady of Meritxell is that she was an abused princess—one of those wicked stepmothers who tried to kill her. Her new husband led a rebellion against her father and wicked stepmother, and the two became well loved.
Oh, and the Virgin of Meritxell takes care of her people well—Andorrans currently have the highest life expectancy in the world.

Something interesting? During World War I Andorra declared war on Germany, though it didn’t do any actual fighting. The Versaille Peace Treaty didn’t include Andorra, so officially it was in a state of belligerency until 1957. The principality was neutral in World War II, and became part of a smuggling route from Vichy France to Spain. Smugglers! They’re as good as pirates!
I found the names of quite a few Andorran poets, but had trouble finding poems that had been translated. I also found out that the poet Philip Levine wrote a poem called “Andorra”, but instead of offering that I’m posting an Andorran children’s song in the Catalan (the language spoken in the country) and in English translation. I found it online here.
Cradle Dance
I el nen es petit
tot mig adormit
sa mare s'el mire.
No el deixa mai sol
i a dins del bressol
ditxos en suspire.
El nen ja n'es gran,
la mare plorant,
l'en diu cada dia.
No en vaiguis de nit
i surt del brogit
treballa, estudia.
Veient-lo perdut,
i tot desmaiat
perque no bas vingut
aqui al meu costat.
Li en bese la cara,
li en bese la front,
petons d'una mare,
la mes gran del mon.
*
The small child
Is half asleep
His mother watches him.
She never leaves him alone
And inside the cradle
Joyful he sighs.
The child has grown,
The mother, crying,
Every day tells him:
Never walk alone
And keep far from trouble,
Work hard, study hard.
Seeing him lost
And fainting:
Why didn't you come
To me, by my side?
She kisses his face,
She kisses his forehead,
Kisses from a mother
The greatest in the world.
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