Speculating in an old medieval washhouse

There is no certainty about it, but it is quite probable that the author of some poems, which, in the opinion of eminent literary critics, such as Eugenio D’Ors, resembled ‘an accordion played by an angel’, that is, the Sevillian poet Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, made the same gesture as the medieval monks at matins and washed himself in this same washhouse, watching the hours pass with the languid slowness as we are supposed to think time passed behind the walls of a monastery.

Even though it occupies the centre of a cubicle, which, in some way, somewhat alters the gridded segmentation of a cloister that was already beginning to yield to the influence of a style as disconcerting as the Gothic, it is possible to speculate about cold dawns and water, almost frosty, whose icy texture, to the touch, would be an infallible remedy to free the poet's thoughts from their volatile and voluntary exile in the dungeons of the supernatural.

Although the supernatural, after all, could be said to be a constant in this place, where the brilliance of an architecture based on the language of the Universe, Geometry, is opposed to the dark ugliness of demons, the gargoyles, who, seen in those moments when the dawn can barely release the influence of sleep in the pupils, could be the best prelude to a frightening hallucination.

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