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!
