Arquivo de Notes | Page 231 of 235

História de Dom Pedro II, by Heitor Lyra [2]

I said a few words yesterday about this book; insufficient, though. I emphasized my respect for the author, but I forgot the protagonist. I redeem myself on this note: Dom Pedro II is the greatest example of honor and prudence in the history of Brazil. He ruled for more than half a century, always being an icon of tolerance and detachment from power; Brazil was able, thanks to his temperament, to make an exchange of regime peacefully — how many countries can say the same? — and in return, he was expelled from the country as a thief, condemned to exile and sorrow, spending his last days in a bleak solitude. When he died, lonely, having a sachet with sand from Copacabana in his pocket, the military, led by abject Floriano Peixoto, denied him even a diplomatic representation at the funeral, which was monumental, but paid by France, gratefully, between other things, for being Dom Pedro II the first statesman to visit the country after devastated by the Franco-Prussian War. The poignant of the whole story is that the “grandson of Marcus Aurelius”, as Victor Hugo referred to him, resigned stoically in being the target of cruel injustice, believing the story would reward him. Today, we well know, the memory of Dom Pedro II is non-existent; our students learn only half a note about his life and his character. And there is one of the beautiful ironies of history, very well represented by the fire of the Museu Nacional: being the museum, the character; and the fire, the reward.

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História de Dom Pedro II, by Heitor Lyra

This is undoubtedly the best storybook I have ever read in my entire life. In this work, divided into three volumes that add up to just over 700 pages, Heitor Lyra traces, in a light, precise and passionate writing, the most glorious period in all Brazilian history. Who indicated it to me? The answer is for all those who bother me by asking: “How are you so smart and admire Olavo de Carvalho?”. This book, like many others, I only had access because of the teacher’s recommendation, which classified it as “wonderful”. If depended on the publishers, I would never have access to this work, only available in sebums and in very rare units. I remember that to gather all three volumes, I had to fish in Rio de Janeiro, Porto Alegre and São Paulo. Well, it was worth every penny. And I reflect: What do schools give young Brazilians to study the 19th century? — I do not remember what I studied myself… — Heitor Lyra had access to the best possible documentation on the period and especially on the greatest symbol of Imperial Brazil. The book, according to the author, “was written in Europe”, where he had access to the vast documentation of the emperor’s foreign correspondents and, moreover, had opened to himself the “priceless archive of the Brazilian imperial family”, arranged at the time at Castle D’Eu , in the care of Dom Pedro de Orléans e Bragança, grandson of Dom Pedro II. At the time, Heitor Lyra was the first and only historian that had access to this archive, which is now reduced to ashes after the fire at the Museu Nacional. I think, think and hesitate to put into words my frustration… What bothers me is not only not seeing new editions of this work and almost all the good history books I have had access to; is to contrast what I find in good books with the vague and stupid vision that I unconsciously nourished from the period; is to find out, suddenly, that I was unaware of almost all the great figures that my country has produced. So I reflect: Why do not we find Heitor Lyra, or Varnhagen, or José Maria Bello on Amazon? It seems to me that, blatantly, there was and there is an effort to tell an alternative history of Brazil.

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The Venom of Schopenhauer

In almost everything I do, Schopenhauer is admonished me: “Be indifferent! Deny your wish! Deny life!”. And practically Schopenhauer’s influence on my life can be summed up in the following: I am a monster of indifference to most things, among them those I would not like to be; already with the things that I would most wish to be indifferent, with these I am not, I cannot, and I feel, finally, absolutely defeated by my very nature.

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Write for the Cinema

I believe it was Faulkner who once said how much writing for cinema undermines an author’s creativity. Of course, Faulkner is more authority than me to talk about it, but I do not think cinema just mines a writer’s creativity. Writing for the cinema, in my case, was of profound importance. For those who have never read a script —and who do not miss much: — the cinematic text, when well written, is of a frightening objectivity: the scene describes accurate and only what is necessary to be intelligible. There are hardly adjectives, a character never presents himself with “gaze wandering through warm daydreams”, and the windows are never “sad and gloomy, crossed by a faint light that faints in the dim light”. It is true, it is true: there is less art in a movie script than in Tolstoy. However, writing for the cinema forces the writer to ask himself: What is the purpose of this scene? What is the function of this object, character or inflection in the scene? Is this stretch really necessary? What, first, is the goal, the message of this film? Does the scene I am writing contribute, in some way, to the plot? Has any direct connection to the main message of the film? Can the film be summarized briefly in the three acts of the Greek tragedy? Does the climax convince? Is it well-supported? Is there dramatic and psychological justification for the actions of the characters? I could keep quoting, but that is enough. What I think, therefore, is that this kind of question seems fundamental to any artistic text and, humbly, I believe it is necessary to do them methodically. Faulkner may not say the same, but I particularly give thanks to the cinema for having them ingrained in my veins.

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