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!
