Prayer by St. Anthony of Lisbon (translated into Portuguese).

 

Senhor Jesus Cristo, pedimos-te que nos dês amor a Ti e ao próximo, que nos tornes filhos da luz, que nos defendas das quedas do pecado e das tentações do maligno, para que possamos merecer alcançar a luz gloriosa do teu rosto.

Com a tua ajuda, Tu que és bendito e glorioso, pelos séculos dos séculos. Amém.

Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XLVIII

 

Chapter 95

wooded retreat—fresh shoes—wood fire—ash, when green—queen of china—cleverest people—declensions—armenian—thunder—deep olive—what do you mean?—bushes—wood pigeon—old göthe

 

Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular moment occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing her merchandise about the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle towards the evening. As for myself, I kept within my wooded retreat, working during the periods of her absence leisurely at my forge. Having observed that the quadruped which my companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, and during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing them. As I was employed three mornings and afternoons about them, I am sure that the reader will agree that I worked leisurely, or rather, lazily. On the third day Belle arrived somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes which I had produced, and catching them as they fell, some being always in the air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion of the waters of a fountain.

'Why have you been absent so long?' said I to Belle; 'it must be long past four by the day.'

'I have been almost killed by the heat,' said Belle; 'I was never out in a more sultry day—the poor donkey, too, could scarcely move along.'

'He shall have fresh shoes,' said I, continuing my exercise; 'here they are quite ready; to-morrow I will tack them on.'

'And why are you playing with them in that manner?' said Belle.

'Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to show that I can do something besides making them; it is not everyone who, after having made a set of horse-shoes, can keep them going up and down in the air, without letting one fall.'

'One has now fallen on your chin,' said Belle.

'And another on my cheek,' said I, getting up; 'it is time to discontinue the game, for the last shoe drew blood.'

Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, after having flung the donkey's shoes into my tent, I put some fresh wood on the fire, which was nearly out, and hung the kettle over it. I then issued forth from the dingle, and strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a long time I was busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking with my foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I met in my way. After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the sky, at first vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my head in all directions for a minute or two; after which I returned to the dingle. Isopel was seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her dress—no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the dingle.

'I am fond of sitting by a wood fire,' said Belle, 'when abroad, whether it be hot or cold; I love to see the flames dart out of the wood; but what kind is this, and where did you get it?'

'It is ash,' said I, 'green ash. Somewhat less than a week ago, whilst I was wandering along the road by the side of a wood, I came to a place where some peasants were engaged in cutting up and clearing away a confused mass of fallen timber: a mighty aged oak had given way the night before, and in its fall had shivered some smaller trees; the upper part of the oak, and the fragments of the rest, lay across the road. I purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two, and the wood on the fire is part of it—ash, green ash.'

'That makes good the old rhyme,' said Belle, 'which I have heard sung by the old women in the great house:—

 

'Ash, when green,

Is fire for a queen.'

 

'And on fairer form of queen ash fire never shone,' said I, 'than on thine, O beauteous queen of the dingle.'

'I am half disposed to be angry with you, young man,' said Belle.

'And why not entirely?' said I.

Belle made no reply.

'Shall I tell you?' I demanded. 'You had no objection to the first part of the speech, but you did not like being called queen of the dingle. Well, if I had the power, I would make you queen of something better than the dingle—Queen of China. Come, let us have tea.'

'Something less would content me,' said Belle, sighing, as she rose to prepare our evening meal.

So we took tea together, Belle and I. 'How delicious tea is after a hot summer's day and a long walk,' said she.

'I daresay it is most refreshing then,' said I; 'but I have heard people say that they most enjoy it on a cold winter's night, when the kettle is hissing on the fire, and their children playing on the hearth.'

Belle sighed. 'Where does tea come from?' she presently demanded.

'From China,' said I; 'I just now mentioned it, and the mention of it put me in mind of tea.'

'What kind of country is China?'

'I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is a very large country far to the East, but scarcely large enough to contain its inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though China does not cover one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants amount to one-third of the population of the world.'

'And do they talk as we do?'

'Oh no! I know nothing of their language; but I have heard that it is quite different from all others, and so difficult that none but the cleverest people amongst foreigners can master it, on which account, perhaps, only the French pretend to know anything about it.'

'Are the French so very clever, then?' said Belle.

'They say there are no people like them, at least in Europe. But talking of Chinese reminds me that I have not for some time past given you a lesson in Armenian. The word for tea in Armenian is—by the by what is the Armenian word for tea?'

'That's your affair, not mine,' said Belle; 'it seems hard that the master should ask the scholar.'

'Well,' said I, 'whatever the word may be in Armenian, it is a noun; and as we have never yet declined an Armenian noun together, we may as well take this opportunity of declining one. Belle, there are ten declensions in Armenian!'

'What's a declension?'

'The way of declining a noun.'

'Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the noun. Is that a declension?'

'You should never play on words; to do so is low, vulgar, smelling of the pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I insist on your declining an Armenian noun.'

'I have done so already,' said Belle.

'If you go on in this way,' said I, 'I shall decline taking any more tea with you. Will you decline an Armenian noun?'

'I don't like the language,' said Belle. 'If you must teach me languages, why not teach me French or Chinese?'

'I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but a Frenchman is clever enough to speak it—to say nothing of teaching; no, we will stick to Armenian, unless, indeed, you would prefer Welsh!'

'Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,' said Belle; 'so, if I must learn one of the two, I will prefer Armenian, which I never heard of till you mentioned it to me; though, of the two, I really think Welsh sounds best.'

'The Armenian noun,' said I, 'which I propose for your declension this night, is ——, which signifieth Master.'

'I neither like the word nor the sound,' said Belle.

'I can't help that,' said I; 'it is the word I choose: Master, with all its variations, being the first noun the sound of which I would have you learn from my lips. Come, let us begin—

'A master. Of a master, etc. Repeat—'

'I am not much used to say the word,' said Belle, 'but to oblige you I will decline it as you wish'; and thereupon Belle declined Master in Armenian.

'You have declined the noun very well,' said I; 'that is in the singular number; we will now go to the plural.'

'What is the plural?' said Belle.

'That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; you shall now go through masters in Armenian.'

'Never,' said Belle, 'never; it is bad to have one master, but more I would never bear, whether in Armenian or English.'

'You do not understand,' said I; 'I merely want you to decline Masters in Armenian.'

'I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, nor with master either; I was wrong to— What sound is that?'

'I did not hear it, but I daresay it is thunder; in Armenian—'

'Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think it is thunder?'

'Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into the heavens, and by their appearance I judged that a storm was nigh at hand.'

'And why did you not tell me so?'

'You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, and I am not in the habit of giving my opinion to people on any subject, unless questioned. But, setting that aside, can you blame me for not troubling you with forebodings about storm and tempest, which might have prevented the pleasure you promised yourself in drinking tea, or perhaps a lesson in Armenian, though you pretend to dislike the latter?'

'My dislike is not pretended,' said Belle; 'I hate the sound of it, but I love my tea, and it was kind of you not to wish to cast a cloud over my little pleasures; the thunder came quite time enough to interrupt it without being anticipated—there is another peal—I will clear away, and see that my tent is in a condition to resist the storm; and I think you had better bestir yourself.'

Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing belonging to myself required any particular attention; in about a quarter of an hour she returned, and seated herself upon her stool.

'How dark the place is become since I left you,' said she; 'just as if night were just at hand.'

'Look up at the sky,' said I; 'and you will not wonder; it is all of a deep olive. The wind is beginning to rise; hark how it moans among the branches, and see how their tops are bending; it brings dust on its wings—I felt some fall on my face; and what is this, a drop of rain?'

'We shall have plenty anon,' said Belle; 'do you hear? it already begins to hiss upon the embers; that fire of ours will soon be extinguished.'

'It is not probable that we shall want it,' said I, 'but we had better seek shelter: let us go into my tent.'

'Go in,' said Belle, 'but you go in alone; as for me, I will seek my own.'

'You are right,' said I, 'to be afraid of me; I have taught you to decline master in Armenian.'

'You almost tempt me,' said Belle, 'to make you decline mistress in English.'

'To make matters short,' said I, 'I decline a mistress.'

'What do you mean?' said Belle, angrily.

'I have merely done what you wished me,' said I, 'and in your own style; there is no other way of declining anything in English, for in English there are no declensions.'

'The rain is increasing,' said Belle.

'It is so,' said I; 'I shall go to my tent; you may come if you please; I do assure you I am not afraid of you.'

'Nor I of you,' said Belle; 'so I will come. Why should I be afraid? I can take my own part; that is—'

We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to pour with vehemence. 'I hope we shall not be flooded in this hollow,' said I to Belle. 'There is no fear of that,' said Belle; 'the wandering people, amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe there is a passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried off. There must be a cloud right above us, it is so dark. Oh! what a flash!'

'And what a peal!' said I; 'that is what the Hebrews call Koul Adonai—the voice of the Lord. Are you afraid?'

'No,' said Belle, 'I rather like to hear it.'

'You are right,' said I, 'I am fond of the sound of thunder myself. There is nothing like it; Koul Adonai behadar: the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice, as the prayer-book version hath it.'

'There is something awful in it,' said Belle; 'and then the lightning—the whole dingle is now in a blaze.'

'“The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, and discovereth the thick bushes.” As you say, there is something awful in thunder.'

'There are all kinds of noises above us,' said Belle; 'surely I heard the crashing of a tree?'

'“The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar trees,”' said I, 'but what you hear is caused by a convulsion of the air; during a thunder-storm there are occasionally all kinds of aerial noises. Ab Gwilym, who, next to King David, has best described a thunder-storm, speaks of these aerial noises in the following manner:—

 

'Astonied now I stand at strains,

As of ten thousand clanking chains;

And once, methought that, overthrown,

The welkin's oaks came whelming down;

Upon my head up starts my hair:

Why hunt abroad the hounds of air?

What cursed hag is screeching high,

Whilst crash goes all her crockery?'

 

You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I offered at least ten thousand lines nearly as good as those to the booksellers in London, the simpletons were so blind to their interest as to refuse purchasing them!'

'I don't wonder at it,' said Belle, 'especially if such dreadful expressions frequently occur as that towards the end;—surely that was the crash of a tree?'

'Ah!' said I, 'there falls the cedar tree—I mean the sallow; one of the tall trees on the outside of the dingle has been snapped short.'

'What a pity,' said Belle, 'that the fine old oak, which you saw the peasants cutting up, gave way the other night, when scarcely a breath of air was stirring; how much better to have fallen in a storm like this, the fiercest I remember.'

'I don't think so,' said I; 'after braving a thousand tempests, it was meeter for it to fall of itself than to be vanquished at last. But to return to Ab Gwilym's poetry: he was above culling dainty words, and spoke boldly his mind on all subjects. Enraged with the thunder for parting him and Morfydd, he says, at the conclusion of his ode,

 

'My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee,

For parting my dear pearl and me!'

 

'You and I shall part, that is, I shall go to my tent, if you persist in repeating from him. The man must have been a savage. A poor wood-pigeon has fallen dead.'

'Yes,' said I, 'there he lies, just outside the tent; often have I listened to his note when alone in the wilderness. So you do not like Ab Gwilym; what say you to old Göthe?—

 

'Mist shrouds the night, and rack;

Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack!

Wildly the owls are flitting,

Hark to the pillars splitting

Of palaces verdant ever,

The branches quiver and sever,

The mighty stems are creaking,

The poor roots breaking and shrieking,

In wild mixt ruin down dashing,

O'er one another they're crashing;

Whilst 'midst the rocks so hoary

Whirlwinds hurry and worry.

Hear'st not, sister—'

 

'Hark!' said Belle, 'hark!'

 

'Hear'st not, sister, a chorus

Of voices—?'

 

'No,' said Belle, 'but I hear a voice.'

 

 

Chapter 96

a shout—a fireball—see to the horses—passing away—gap in the hedge—on three wheels—why do you stop?—no craven heart—the cordial—bags

 

I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud clashing of branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered growl of thunder. I was about to tell Belle that she must have been mistaken, when I heard a shout—indistinct, it is true, owing to the noises aforesaid—from some part of the field above the dingle. 'I will soon see what's the matter,' said I to Belle, starting up. 'I will go too,' said the girl. 'Stay where you are,' said I; 'If I need you, I will call'; and, without waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of the dingle. I was about a few yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld a blaze of light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was a loud crash, and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke. 'Lord have mercy upon us!' I heard a voice say, and methought I heard the plunging and struggling of horses. I had stopped short on hearing the crash, for I was half stunned; but I now hurried forward, and in a moment stood upon the plain. Here I was instantly aware of the cause of the crash and the smoke. One of those balls, generally called fireballs, had fallen from the clouds, and was burning on the plain at a short distance; and the voice which I had heard, and the plunging were as easily accounted for. Near the left-hand corner of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and about ten yards from the fireball, I perceived a chaise, with a postilion on the box, who was making efforts, apparently useless, to control his horses, which were kicking and plunging in the highest degree of excitement. I instantly ran towards the chaise, in order to offer what help was in my power. 'Help me,' said the poor fellow, as I drew nigh; but before I could reach the horses, they had turned rapidly round, one of the fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, and the postilion flung violently from his seat upon the field. The horses now became more furious than before, kicking desperately, and endeavouring to disengage themselves from the fallen chaise. As I was hesitating whether to run to the assistance of the postilion or endeavour to disengage the animals, I heard the voice of Belle exclaiming, 'See to the horses, I will look after the man.' She had, it seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied the fire-bolt, and had hurried up to learn the cause. I forthwith seized the horses by the heads, and used all the means I possessed to soothe and pacify them, employing every gentle modulation of which my voice was capable. Belle, in the meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his fall; but, presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree, he came limping to me, holding his hand to his right thigh. 'The first thing that must now be done,' said I, 'is to free these horses from the traces; can you undertake to do so?' 'I think I can,' said the man, looking at me somewhat stupidly. 'I will help,' said Belle, and without loss of time laid hold of one of the traces. The man, after a short pause, also set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were extricated. 'Now,' said I to the man, 'what is next to be done?' 'I don't know,' said he; 'indeed I scarcely know anything; I have been so frightened by this horrible storm, and so shaken by my fall.' 'I think,' said I, 'that the storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as for your fall, you must bear it as lightly as you can. I will tie the horses amongst those trees, and then we will all betake us to the hollow below.' 'And what's to become of my chaise?' said the postilion, looking ruefully on the fallen vehicle. 'Let us leave the chaise for the present,' said I; 'we can be of no use to it.' 'I don't like to leave my chaise lying on the ground in this weather,' said the man; 'I love my chaise and him whom it belongs to.' 'You are quite right to be fond of yourself,' said I, 'on which account I advise you to seek shelter from the rain as soon as possible.' 'I was not talking of myself,' said the man, 'but my master, to whom the chaise belongs.' 'I thought you called the chaise yours,' said I. 'That's my way of speaking,' said the man; 'but the chaise is my master's, and a better master does not live. Don't you think we could manage to raise up the chaise?' 'And what is to become of the horses?' said I. 'I love my horses well enough,' said the man; 'but they will take less harm than the chaise. We two can never lift up that chaise.' 'But we three can,' said Belle; 'at least, I think so; and I know where to find two poles which will assist us.' 'You had better go to the tent,' said I, 'you will be wet through.' 'I care not for a little wetting,' said Belle; 'moreover, I have more gowns than one—see you after the horses.' Thereupon, I led the horses past the mouth of the dingle, to a place where a gap in the hedge afforded admission to the copse or plantation on the southern side. Forcing them through the gap, I led them to a spot amidst the trees which I deemed would afford them the most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into the dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own nag, and with these fastened them each to a separate tree in the best manner I could. This done, I returned to the chaise and the postilion. In a minute or two Belle arrived with two poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, overgrown with brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation. With these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the fallen chaise from the ground.

We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at length, with the assistance of the postilion, we saw our efforts crowned with success—the chaise was lifted up, and stood upright on three wheels.

'We may leave it here in safety,' said I, 'for it will hardly move away on three wheels, even supposing it could run by itself; I am afraid there is work here for a wheelwright, in which case I cannot assist you; if you were in need of a blacksmith it would be otherwise.' 'I don't think either the wheel or the axle is hurt,' said the postilion, who had been handling both; 'it is only the linch-pin having dropped out that caused the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the linch-pin!—though, perhaps, it fell out a mile away.' 'Very likely,' said I; 'but never mind the linch-pin, I can make you one, or something that will serve: but I can't stay here any longer, I am going to my place below with this young gentlewoman, and you had better follow us.' 'I am ready,' said the man; and after lifting up the wheel and propping it against the chaise, he went with us, slightly limping, and with his hand pressed to his thigh.

As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, and myself the last of the party, the postilion suddenly stopped short, and looked about him. 'Why do you stop?' said I. 'I don't wish to offend you,' said the man, 'but this seems to be a strange place you are leading me into; I hope you and the young gentlewoman, as you call her, don't mean me any harm—you seemed in a great hurry to bring me here.' 'We wished to get you out of the rain,' said I, 'and ourselves too; that is, if we can, which I rather doubt, for the canvas of a tent is slight shelter in such a rain; but what harm should we wish to do you?' 'You may think I have money,' said the man, 'and I have some, but only thirty shillings, and for a sum like that it would be hardly worth while to—' 'Would it not?' said I; 'thirty shillings, after all, are thirty shillings, and for what I know, half a dozen throats may have been cut in this place for that sum at the rate of five shillings each; moreover, there are the horses, which would serve to establish this young gentlewoman and myself in housekeeping, provided we were thinking of such a thing.' 'Then I suppose I have fallen into pretty hands,' said the man, putting himself in a posture of defence; 'but I'll show no craven heart; and if you attempt to lay hands on me, I'll try to pay you in your own coin. I'm rather lamed in the leg, but I can still use my fists; so come on, both of you, man and woman, if woman this be, though she looks more like a grenadier.'

'Let me hear no more of this nonsense,' said Belle; 'if you are afraid, you can go back to your chaise—we only seek to do you a kindness.'

'Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats,' said the man. 'You brought it on yourself,' said Belle; 'you suspected us, and he wished to pass a joke upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your coach laden with gold, nor would I.' 'Well,' said the man, 'I was wrong—here's my hand to both of you,' shaking us by the hands; 'I'll go with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome place, though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, having been in plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, without coming to any harm—come, let us move on, for 'tis a shame to keep you two in the rain.'

So we descended the path which led into the depths of the dingle; at the bottom I conducted the postilion to my tent, which, though the rain dripped and trickled through it, afforded some shelter; there I bade him sit down on the log of wood, whilst I placed myself as usual on my stone. Belle in the meantime had repaired to her own place of abode. After a little time, I produced a bottle of the cordial of which I have previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest take a considerable draught. I then offered him some bread and cheese, which he accepted with thanks. In about an hour the rain had much abated: 'What do you now propose to do?' said I. 'I scarcely know,' said the man; 'I suppose I must endeavour to put on the wheel with your help.' 'How far are you from your home?' I demanded. 'Upwards of thirty miles,' said the man; 'my master keeps an inn on the great north road, and from thence I started early this morning with a family, which I conveyed across the country to a hall at some distance from here. On my return I was beset by the thunder-storm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the chaise off the road to the field above, and overset it as you saw. I had proposed to pass the night at an inn about twelve miles from here on my way back, though how I am to get there to-night I scarcely know, even if we can put on the wheel, for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my fall, and the smoulder and smoke of that fireball have rather bewildered my head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the way.'

'The best thing you can do,' said I, 'is to pass the night here; I will presently light a fire, and endeavour to make you comfortable—in the morning we will see to your wheel.' 'Well,' said the man, 'I shall be glad to pass the night here, provided I do not intrude, but I must see to the horses.' Thereupon I conducted the man to the place where the horses were tied. 'The trees drip very much upon them,' said the man, 'and it will not do for them to remain here all night; they will be better out on the field picking the grass; but first of all they must have a good feed of corn.' Thereupon he went to his chaise, from which he presently brought two small bags, partly filled with corn—into them he inserted the mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads. 'Here we will leave them for a time,' said the man; 'when I think they have had enough, I will come back, tie their fore-legs, and let them pick about.'

Monday's Illustrated Word: "Goddess of Murder" by unknown writer (in English)

art by Jack Cole - Web of Evil #3 - Quality, March 1953.

 

 

Saturday's Good Reading: “Professores Improvisados” by Graciliano Ramos (in Portuguese)

 

Conheci um sujeito que dispunha de vasto palavreado e ensinava gramática. Ensinava por um processo engenhoso. Reunida a classe, punha os óculos, abria um livro, percorria a página de alto a baixo com o índice, gargarejava umas coisas que ninguém compreendia e terminava:

— Isso não tem importância. Vamos para diante. Tragam-me o adjetivo amanhã.

No outro dia cena igual: os mesmos óculos, o mesmo livro aberto, o mesmo gesto com o fura-bolos amarelo de cigarro, o mesmo gargarejo, a mesma conclusão:

— Adjetivo é isso que vocês sabem. Não interessa. Para a frente! Decorem o pronome.

A propósito de análise dissertava com vigor sobre a dinastia dos Sugs: falavam-lhe em concordância e ele explicava metafísica. Ao cabo de alguns anos, excetuando gramática, os alunos sabiam tudo. Houve entre eles, com o correr do tempo, agricultores, jornalistas, padres, advogados, funileiros e poetas. Sempre ignoraram a disciplina que o homem professava.

Esta história pode ser exagero ou mentira. Mas ninguém a desmancha, sustento-a — e ela permanece. Há muitas verdades assim, inconcussas por falta de quem as desmantele.

O meu conto será aceito sem dificuldade, porque, se não é rigorosamente verdadeiro, é pelo menos verossímil. Realmente esse professor, que, para livrar-se dum obstáculo, mistura alhos com bugalhos, mete os pés pelas mãos, deixa os rapazes em jejum, não é daqui nem dali: é de quase todas as cidades do interior. Músico de sete instrumentos, criatura fatigada, depois de exercer dez ofícios sem se fixar em nenhum, esbarra com um dilema temeroso — queimar os miolos ou abrir uma escola.

Se estira a canela, o prejuízo é pequeno: se se agarra à segunda hipótese, vem a lume, passados meses, um jornalzinho cheio de sonetos.

Não pretende consertar nada. O que Deus Nosso Senhor fez, ou alguém por ele, deve estar certo. Limito-me a expor um fato. E para que me acreditem, confesso, com vergonha, que sou suspeito.

Por motivo de ordem econômica, resolvi um dia, a exemplo de toda gente, ministrar aos outros alguns conhecimentos proveitosos a mim. Não me arrisquei a preparar oleiros ou sapateiros pois ninguém tomaria a sério sapato ou panela que eu fizesse. Procurei matéria exótica, de verificação difícil. Imaginando, sem grande esforço, que na Itália existia uma língua, pedi catálogos ao Garnier e dispus-me resolutamente a estropiar o italiano com a ajuda de Deus. Anunciei: “Italiano rápido e barato a cinco mil-réis por cabeça, mensalmente. Aproveitem. Lições em todos os dias úteis e inúteis. Tempo é dinheiro, como diz o gringo.”

— Isto deve ser fácil, pensei. É só arrumar no fim das palavras one ou sine. De estrangeiro cá na terra ninguém entende. E se aparecer por aí um carcamano, adoeço e perco a fala.

Pois, senhores, não me dei mal. Matricularam-se cerca de trinta idiotas: comecei a trabalhar com energia e confiança. Ainda estaria trabalhando, se dois alunos, finda a primeira quinzena, não entrassem em concorrência comigo, deslealmente, fundando escolas que italianizaram toda a localidade.

Creio que os professores sertanejos são, com diferenças pouco sensíveis, indivíduos como eu. Ensinam antes de aprenderem. Talvez fosse mais razoável aprender para ensinar. Mas poderei eu censurá-los? Não, decerto. Todos precisamos viver. E desejamos, naturalmente, aparentar o que não somos. Por que é que estou a redigir estas niquices? Por que m’as pediram? Ora essa! Não seria melhor declarar francamente e honestamente que não sei escrever?

Friday's Sung Word "Na Batucada da Vida" by Ary Barroso and Luiz Peixoto (in Portuguese)

No dia em que eu apareci no mundo
Juntou uma porção de vagabundo
Da orgia
De noite, teve samba e batucada
Que acabou de madrugada
Em grossa pancadaria
Depois do meu batismo de fumaça
Mamei um litro e meio de cachaça
Bem puxado
E fui adormecer como um despacho
Deitadinha no capacho na porta dos enjeitados
Cresci olhando a vida sem malícia
Quando um cabo de polícia
Despertou meu coração
E como eu fui pra ele muito boa
Me soltou na rua à toa
Desprezada como um cão
E hoje que eu sou mesmo da virada
E que eu não tenho nada, nada
E por Deus fui esquecida
Irei cada vez mais me esmulambando
Seguirei sempre cantando
Na batucada da vida.

 

 

You can listen "Na Batucada da Vida" sung by Carmen Miranda with the Diabos do Céu here.

 

You can listen "Na Batucada da Vida" sung by Dircinha Batista with Ary Barroso playing the piano here.