Some
time ago, I decided to write about
the emperor Dom Pedro II, one
of the most admirable personalities
of our so neglected and forgotten
Brazilian history. Why I chose
him, I can’t say. I only
know that the son of Dom Pedro
I, and father of Princess Isabel
always fascinated me by his wisdom
and rigid character, a greatness
of spirit and simplicity very
rare in political figures at any
time in history. Today I am keeping
this promise that I made to myself,
and I know that this is good,
serving as some sort of catharsis,
which is somewhat like a refreshing
bath to the spirit, a rest of
responsibility and tensions that
invade our knowing and caring.
Cyro dos Anjos said that what
we write, or want to, constitutes
an intellectual pregnancy and,
until the intellectual child is
born, there can be no rest. “Bem
haja!” God willing!, As
the Portuguese say.
And
what do I actually know of Dom
Pedro II? Not much, actually.
That would entail a lot of research
involving the time of the Second
Reign. But I know a little that
I will pass on to you with pleasure
if you have the patience to read
my simple lines. Following the
fashion, it’s always good
to start by stating that Dom Pedro
II was a great democrat, friend
of the people, and simple, as
a Christian should be. To avoid
swaying from the truth, it would
also be prudent to add that his
greatest friendships were within
the cultural elite, the philosophers,
poets, scientists, inventors…
people of great intelligence and
culture. What he really disliked,
though, was the royalty full of
pomp, glory and protocol. The
stuck-up nobility with their luxury
and false appearances. Dom Pedro
II really only felt at home in
the company of men like Victor
Hugo, Rennin, Thomas Edison, Longfellow,
Graham Bell, Pasteur, Alexandre
Herculano, Manzoni, Gonçalves
de Magalhães, Francisco
Otaviano, Carlos Gomes, Pedro
Américo and other intellectuals
that he admired and protected.
It is said that he never attended
court without showing a certain
unease with all the gala and gold.
In
dress, Dom Pedro II was fond of
a smart black overcoat, in the
fashion of the professors of that
time, disdaining jewelry, with
discreet airs of a good bourgeois,
fine, educated, only seduced by
new ideas and by the wisdom of
great thinkers. He immensely enjoyed
traveling though he rarely did,
but when he did so, striding through
European courtyards, he paid all
the travel expenses of the entire
journey out of his own fortune,
never reaching into the crown’s
treasury to fund these trips,
as is the costume today. Educated
to rule, with iron discipline,
nearly monastic, he was molded
like a responsible public worker,
modest and serious. Extremely
tolerant and kind, he nonetheless
had an iron will and conserved
an intransigent opposition in
his intentions. Before all other
values, he held duty, work, practice
and obligation as foremost. He
would work through the night in
the performance of his duty. So
decided and just was he that he
seemed like a centralized judge
of good and peace.
A
free man, studious and of a spontaneous
scientific curiosity, on many
occasions he scandalized the courts
of the old world, leaving behind
the straight laced ideas of the
conservatives. This was because
he appreciated the company of
free thinkers more than the palace
dwellers. Rabbis, artists, republicans,
the impious Rennin and Victor
Hugo were his preferred companions.
Little did he care about the friction
this caused in relations with
the Pope Pio XI, a radical conservative
who regularly censured him. Of
course he didn’t go as far
as to appear an iconoclast, this
never. He was a man of peace,
a good man with a noble heart.
Serious,
concentrated, virtuous, respected
and respectful, discreet as a
man and as a ruler, he also had
a long line of mistresses, besides
his royal spouse, the Neapolitan
princess Dona Teresa Cristina,
a model of kindness, whom Dom
Pedro dearly loved. His heart
had nonetheless been captured
by many other noble paramours
such as the countess of Villeneuve,
Madam de La Tour, Eponina Octaviano
and the Countess of Barral and
Pedra Branca, this last being
his favorite, with whom he kept
voluminous sentimental correspondence
and to whom he dedicated himself
profoundly. Strangely enough and
contrary to the behavior of his
regal father Dom Pedro I, he never
let these amorous affairs scandalize
Europe. Love, to him, was always
an intimate concern, from soul
to soul.
Expulsed
from Brazil, on November 17, 1889
in the wee hours of a tragic,
tempestuous morning, he journeyed,
clamoring his forlorn sadness,
and worn out by long years of
work and study, he died in a simple
room at the Bedford Hotel, in
Paris, two years later. His greatest
suffering was his memory of Brazil.
How painful were the chains of
exile! The French government conceded
him honors of Chief of State and
his burial was one of the greatest
that the city of Paris had ever
witnessed, as grand as Victor
Hugo’s burial. Before the
wise and before man, once again
Europe bowed to Brazil!
