Saint of the Day, November 3, 1979
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“A Roman and Apostolic Catholic, the author of this text submits himself with filial devotion to the traditional teaching of Holy Church. However, if by an oversight anything is found in it at variance with that teaching, he immediately and categorically rejects it.”
The words “Revolution” and “Counter-Revolution” are employed here in the sense given to them by Prof. Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira in his book Revolution and Counter-Revolution, the first edition of which was published in the monthly Catolicismo, Nº 100, April 1959.
Original audio (in Portuguese)
I am supposed to talk about the innocence of Brazilians and what their primordial light is like.
We need to start by clearly defining what it means to be Brazilian, to determine how true that idea really is.
However, we must specify two points here: first, they are Brazilians, but Roman Catholic and Apostolic Brazilians. Like every good Brazilian, or every good Turk, or every good Afghan, or anyone from anywhere in the world, they attain the most characteristic aspect of their homeland when they are genuinely and entirely Catholic. That is unique to the Catholic religion. The Catholic religion does with each person’s national characteristics what varnish does with wood.
Look at the floor: a connoisseur could tell what kind of wood this floor is made of. Keep in mind that the floor of the Alardo Room at the Seat of the Reign of Mary is undeniably more beautiful than this one. Keep that floor in mind.
That floor is made of Brazilian woods and, above all, I believe you know that the lion’s thau is made of pau-brasil—the famous wood that gave Brazil its name. I wanted the thau to be made of pau-brasil. It was not easy to find, and Dr. Eduardo had it polished and installed there with his usual artistic care. In other words, it is Brazil made into a thau and placed in the heart of a lion. I wanted it to be that way; it has a meaning, and that is the meaning.
Consider how varnish impacts wood. Varnished wood appears very different from the same wood without varnish. Varnish also looks quite different when it’s in the bucket, ready to apply, compared to after it has been applied. No one who only knows wood or only knows varnish could imagine that varnished wood would be so beautiful. Nor that wood would be so beautiful with varnish, or that varnish would be so beautiful on wood.
The same is true of the Catholic religion. We must understand the Catholic religion as it truly is, radiating from its center, which is the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church. But the Catholic religion is meant to be lived among people, and by their nature, people are grouped into nations.
Because of this, the Catholic Church’s sacred liquid, poured over the wood that is the soul of each nation, acts like varnish on wood. The wood retains all its qualities and beauty after being varnished. Brazilwood is truly Brazilwood only after it has been varnished.
That piece of wood on the floor—look at it—it was meant to be varnished. It wouldn’t have its look without the varnish. Very Brazilian, you’re not actually looking at the varnish but at the person speaking. That’s ultra-Brazilian…
If this wood were not waxed, it would not have its appearance. It is something that God created for the use of man, who is capable of inventing and manufacturing varnishes, and imagining for wood a form of beauty that God intended for man to find. Man then seasoned the varnish and applied it to the wood. And it should produce the same results.
For example, no one can praise the woodwork from the Reign of Mary Hall without also praising the varnish, as if they are praising varnished wood. Each piece of wood reveals what makes it unique; in a way, each piece’s appearance is fully achieved at the moment it is varnished.
Thus, in that way, the Catholic religion is connected with the various nations.
If you want to picture the most Spanish Spaniard, the most French Frenchman, the most Italian Italian, the most German German, the most Austrian of Austrians, the most Turkish of Turks, the most Chinese of Chinese, or—my Nisei—the most Japanese of Japanese, think not of the great pagan men who may have been born in their countries before or after Christianization, but think of the Catholics that country has produced. Because that is where the country reveals itself in all its physiognomy, and that character, which is unique to their race, history, culture, and landscape, only truly becomes authentic after baptism. That is when it becomes genuinely complete.
By the grace of God, that mother was Roman Catholic and Apostolic, and she, by the grace of God, made her son a Roman Catholic and Apostolic. This is not the natural Brazil, but a Catholic, varnished Brazil. This is the Brazil we need to discuss.
That is the first point I want to emphasize. The second point is this: What is Brazil? Where can we find the truly Brazilian Brazil?
Perhaps it would be worthwhile to try an experiment here. Let those present in the auditorium who are certain they have no blood other than Brazilian blood at least up to their great-great-grandfather, raise your hands. …
Twelve… I should mention that those with Portuguese ancestry can also raise their arms. My friend Eurico! Where is your arm?… That makes about twenty in a room that currently has around 230 to 250 people.
So, as you can see, 10% are “en su tinta” [authentic] Brazilians. The rest are Brazilians with some proportion of non-Brazilian blood.
Now, let those who do not have a drop of Brazilian blood in their veins raise your arms. Thank you.
If that is the case, what is Brazil? Because that is a question.
Please note that I am trying to have a pleasant conversation, but am proceeding methodically.
I am setting the terms of the question before defining it. That is, I first removed what I did not want; now I am replacing it with what I want, and I am posing the problem. This is as methodical as if it were a “ploc-ploc” [geometric spirit] lecture. I try to disguise the “ploc-ploc” by adding some ornamentation to the seriousness. But in fact, I am literally giving a lecture.
So, I’ve started to highlight an essential ingredient: Brazilians are Catholic in every aspect. Therefore, two factors come into play for Brazilianness. Now I am showing a difficulty: Brazilianness is something that unites all of you and makes you, who were born on this soil, feel like children of the same homeland.
On the other hand, the vast majority indeed have a portion of blood that is not the blood of the original Brazil, when it was entirely and exclusively Brazilian. And yet, you consider yourselves and are effectively Brazilian. What does it mean to be Brazilian? That is the question.
The question highlights the core issue: what does this ten percent minority have that gives it influence over the entire majority? What right does this 10% minority have to claim that this is Brazil, when there is so little Brazilian presence here? Still, it remains true that this is Brazil. So, the question becomes: what is Brazil?
Having identified the problem that needs to be defined, I must place the subject, as it appears to us in this room, within a broader context: If here in São Paulo, a city of immigration, and within the TFP, a national organization that attracts Brazilians from various states to live here, as well as Catholics from different countries to visit or settle here, then this center of attraction does not fully represent Brazil. In their own right, São Paulo and the TFP are more cosmopolitan than Brazil itself—although there are still distinctly Brazilian regions, such as the Northeast, Minas Gerais, Goiás, and Mato Grosso, as well as the North, which have experienced little to no significant immigration.
Rio de Janeiro, on the other hand, is much more cosmopolitan. In the south, as we leave São Paulo, the German influence becomes more noticeable; in Rio Grande do Sul, there is a significant Italian influence—Italian immigration is also important—and you find a Brazilian type whose skin has been touched by the winds of the Pampas. The Brazilian gaucho is somewhat Spanish in his manners, his way of doing things, etc. He is somewhat Argentine and touches on the Hispanic world slightly. That is beyond doubt.
How many times, while in Porto Alegre, did I enjoy looking out the window at the street activity and watching people meet and talk? For example, twenty years ago, everything was already internationalized — I was in a hotel in Belo Horizonte. The best hotel in Belo Horizonte at that time was the Hotel Normandie, and it was a completely different experience to see the people of Minas Gerais meet and greet each other. When in Rio Grande do Sul, it was even more striking to see gauchos greet each other and observe their unique attitude.
The people from Minas Gerais who met each other sought friendship but also discretion, unwilling to attract attention. Their encounter was not very theatrical, with a handshake, a soft and friendly tone of voice, “how are you doing”; and if there was a little politics to discuss, it was taken care of right then and there…
That’s not how the gaucho behaves: when he saw you from afar, he’d exclaim, “Oooo, dear friend!” He was already speaking to you from a distance, with open arms, hugging you so that your chests echoed. That is the Argentine style in all its pompous and demonstrative character, and it is certainly not the mineiro style in any way.
Yet, within all these differences, one thing weighs heavily and somewhat changes the panorama of this room: Brazil is not only what is here, but Brazil is what is here, plus these homogeneously Brazilian immensities that live with us in the same country. They are part of the same country and help spread Brazilian culture through cosmopolitanism, encouraging the 10% of Brazilians who are here. That is, our northeasterners support us, pure Paulistas, by their mere presence in the Northeast, so that the Brazilian note here is more tonic and stronger. [So do] our neighbors from Minas Gerais and Rio de Janeiro, etc.
Furthermore, there is another characteristic — and here I begin to delve into the depths of reality. It is part of the Brazilian soul — and later, if you remind me, I’ll show you that it’s part of Brazilian innocence, something I haven’t seen discussed but find very distinctive. I’ve often heard it said that Brazilians tend to imitate and willingly copy what is done abroad; that they keep their eyes fixed on international trends and imitate them. And there’s quite a bit of truth in that.
However, I have not heard it said that Brazilians engage in an exchange; they imitate, and while they imitate, they absorb influences and also give something back. They shape those they come into contact with, so much so that those around them unconsciously become more Brazilian. They manage to give as they receive, finding a way to do both simultaneously. While giving, they enjoy imitating as much as influencing, and what they give often speaks to the soul more deeply, if not as profoundly, as what they receive.
Brazilianness is therefore characterized by a prodigious capacity to exchange, trade, influence, and be influenced. This is a fundamental element of Brazilianness.
This ability, which we perform subconsciously—so much so that I rarely see it praised or mentioned by anyone, and I don’t recall ever noticing it being acknowledged—aligns in a providential way with the circumstances of our vast territory, which the pure descendants of Portugal would not be able to fill, except over many centuries.
When the kings of Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas, approved by the Holy See, the King of France, Francis I, heard about it and laughed. In one of his witty “fassur” sayings, with a grain of truth that serves as a wedge for error, he said, “I am not aware of any clause in Adam’s will giving half of the New World to the King of Portugal and the other half to the King of Spain.”
It was fassur because the Holy See had approved it, and a clause in the will of Our Lord Jesus Christ, sealed with His Blood, states that what the pope does cannot be undone. Our Lord Jesus Christ is Man-God and King of the world, and what His Vicar does is final, and there is no question about it.
The two kings agreed—and the act was beautiful: “This world is empty, we have discovered it; let us divide the pie between us as brothers. Holy Father, bless this division because God created it for whoever discovered it.” And that is true.
Why is it that when a fisherman arrives at the sea and catches a fish, he becomes its owner? Because God created it for the first person to catch it. It’s that simple. And none of us will tell the fisherman that we don’t know the clause in Adam’s will that says that this fisherman was the owner of the fish. The fish was created for anyone who caught it.
So, Brazil was also discovered by our good Pedro Álvares Cabral and became Portuguese [property]. The rest was discovered by Pizzarros, Cortezes, Colombos, etc., at the behest of the King of Spain, and became Spanish [property]. It’s over. And the pope blessed it. So the King of France’s somewhat fassur saying revealed his desire to cast his hook on this side as soon as he finished with the wars with Germany. In fact, the French tried to cast their hook here, in São Luís do Maranhão and Rio de Janeiro. Later, they gained through diplomacy much more influence than they had tried to conquer with force. They did not conquer any part of Brazil, but they acquired some mental influence over the entire country, which was worth much more.
The French who came to Rio were Protestants and Calvinists, unlike those who went to São Luís, so you can understand my rejection, to say the least.
The truth is, it was fortunate that those who settled here were the ones who organized the place, set the tone, and provided the central theme from which the country’s music would evolve. But later, all peoples of the earth would be fraternally invited to come and live here on the condition that they continue the central theme and stay on the same path. It was the condition of hospitality: “Come and be one of us. Don’t come to be something different. Bring your riches, bring your characteristics, we are willing to receive you with great sympathy and goodwill. On one condition: we also have something to give. Do receive it.”
I believe no one here fails to see that this is highly fair. It’s a typically Brazilian thing, and I think it’s so evident to everyone in this room that I don’t see a single person seeming to disagree. On the contrary, they agree entirely.
But you’re not agreeing just because I’m saying it; it’s because you already knew it before I said it. I’m just making explicit something that already made sense. I’m not teaching something entirely new; I’m doing something better: I am taking something already glimpsed and bringing it fully to light. Making explicit is the main way to educate and teach those who understand the virtue of innocence and how it works.
So, I am helping you clarify an idea you had about Brazil.
Two clarifications: I am teaching Brazilians to understand themselves in relation to immigration; I am helping the children of immigrants understand themselves in relation to Brazil, to feel influenced by it, and to desire that influence. I am also teaching visitors—those who, to our delight, are living here in Brazil for an indefinite period—how to navigate their experience of living in Brazil long-term.
What I am about to say is usually Brazilian—everyone already understands this subconsciously. It’s not a formal agreement with anyone. It’s not an explicit pact. It’s a way of being that’s so implicit that I don’t think you’d notice if I didn’t say it. I took some time to realize this and make it clear. For example, I hadn’t made it explicit before traveling to Europe multiple times. I only made it clear after I arrived.
As a starting point for understanding these people’s innocence and mental history, you have this characteristic, which is deeply rooted in Portuguese psychology. I’ll briefly mention it in a moment, even if it takes some time, because the subject needs proper attention. … All of this comes from Portugal, and we are proud of that. When we look at the Tower of Belém, we find our echoes and similarities there.
It is up to us to handle all of this without over-perceiving and without the other party perceiving too much either. We must do it subtly because the era of explicitness would come later, once things had already started to take shape. In this field, the actions we take in terms of business and contracts are often carried out more deeply when both parties are unaware of them. This is a very important point!
A Brazilian trait is this sense of interchangeability, which I will explain shortly, and also this tendency to make things explicit only at the right moment, when necessary and appropriate. One does not feel the urge to make everything explicit but rather to act with a certain calmness.
Here is another trait: Brazilians [are Brazilian] regardless of how mixed their blood may be. I consider Black people, and, therefore, people of mixed Black ancestry, to be authentically Brazilian. Indigenous people are authentically Brazilian, and so are those who descend from Indians and have savage blood. The word “savage” comes from the jungle, so those who come from populations accustomed to living exclusively in the jungle are savage; there is no other way to say it.[1]
I come from Indian ancestry on both my father’s and mother’s sides. I don’t rule out the possibility of having some black blood. Because, except for Dom Bertrand or someone like him, no one in Brazil can be sure they don’t have some black blood. I don’t know if I do, but I don’t rule out the possibility and see no reason to worry about it. If I do, I do. If someone suddenly tells me, “This black man or woman was your fifth grandfather,” that’s fine with me; I’ll add it to the family gallery. Why? Because I am Brazilian. That’s it, it’s over, that’s just how it is, and there’s no other way.
I used to say that being aggressive is a trait of savages. However, these people, who have such close savage roots in some of their veins, are individuals who do not brutalize themselves, who detest brutality, and who do not treat themselves or others roughly. They are even shocked when they see or experience rough treatment.
So if anyone wants to cross a Brazilian, they should use brutality. Brazilians are as smooth and gentle as a drop of olive oil. Brutalize them, and they get angry. And when they get angry, no one knows how far things can go. The secret is not to make them angry. If they get angry, the game is lost. It’s useless.
So, Brazilians do not like to brutalize; they don’t brutalize each other. Their treatment is gentle, meek, and cordial. However, I recall a song from the Northeast that an old colleague of ours from Ceará used to sing, which was about the cajarana tree.
Cajarana must be some tree from the Northeast. So, it was the story of a country bumpkin who said to another, “Don’t take my little ox away from the cajarana tree.” As the other kept trying to do so, the country bumpkin got angry and finally jumped on top of him because he would not relent. Facing brutality, he sharpened his machete and off he went.
So, don’t go against the grain because it messes everything up. If your right lane is open, go right ahead. But don’t go the wrong way because then it’s like combing your hair the wrong way. Everything falls apart, and you don’t know what can happen. Be careful!
Where is the Portuguese root here? Consider the nature of Portuguese colonialism. In the 19th century, the British were regarded as the dominant colonial empire. The Portuguese colonial empire wasn’t truly an empire, but rather a collection of colonies, which gave the impression of decayed colonialism and a declining nation. England had banks, Protestant churches, politicians and military personnel stationed throughout its colonies at strategic points, conducting business. If problems arose, they would respond with force. So, the British lion rested its paw on something, secured it, and the issue was settled. Is the empire strong? Yes, why? Because the lion is strong.
Think about the Portuguese monarchy followed by the Portuguese Republic. Those colonies were governed in a patriarchal manner by appointed governors, and no one really knew exactly what they did or didn’t do. Each colony grew and expanded like a flower or a cauliflower.
The [English] colonies gained independence as soon as the lion released its claws. If it weren’t for the Russian invasion, the Portuguese colonies wouldn’t have become independent because the people there loved their colonizers. The Portuguese colonies didn’t gain independence on their own but rather because the Russians intervened and enforced it with the cooperation of all the powers you know. Otherwise, they would have continued.
Why? Portuguese colonization was carried out in a similar manner to Brazil’s influence on non-Brazilians. The Portuguese thus influenced Africans and Hindus in Macau and elsewhere.
That is penetration, similar to the idea of ‘olive oil imperialism.’ It spreads smoothly, just like olive oil on paper. When you pour a drop, it doesn’t tear or shred the paper; instead, it makes it transparent and fills its entire space, and that’s all. That was Portugal’s colonialism.
Deep down, which form of colonialism was stronger? It wasn’t the lion’s; it was the olive oil’s. That’s the fact! There’s no sense in fantasizing.
You may say, ‘Dr. Plinio, what about Brazil?’ If that’s the case, why did Brazil become independent? Why didn’t it remain linked to Portugal?
I’ll say one thing: 150 years after independence, Brazil has restored a situation where Portuguese citizens have all the rights of Brazilian citizens, and Brazilian citizens have all the rights of Portuguese citizens. It’s something that those who declared independence probably wouldn’t understand.
In other words, such a sense of unity transcended the struggles for independence (some of which had different origins), and we get the impression that it is growing rather than shrinking. I believe no former colony in the world is as friendly to its former metropolis as Brazil is toward Portugal.
This communication is a gift, a special way of being, doing, and arranging things. It is a style.
This style comes from what I believe I mentioned to you a few days ago. I only realized this while traveling in Europe. Take three foreigners here. “Foreigners” sounds a little harsh, and they may feel a little pushed aside, but this is not my intention at all.
Take three foreigners: Mr. Zayas, Mr. Andreas, and Mr. Guillaume. I am not including Italians and Hispanics because they are very similar [in their cultural background]. I told Andreas, ‘You must have heard comments about Mr. Zayas and Mr. Guillaume.’ Each of them represents his own country. We find it interesting and comment on how characteristic it is. When you’re not there, they also talk about you, an Austrian, about how you are, how you are not, and so on. We are happy to notice and highlight your qualities with genuine joy, recognizing that the other person possesses them. So now, here’s our national trait: we absorb something.
This joy has an assimilative quality, something that enters and makes what we admire truly penetrate us. Since my eyes finally landed on Zayas, I’ll use him as an example. Many Brazilians may have become less soft when dealing with Zayas because they realize he is different from Brazilian sentimentality. I guarantee they figured him out. Occasionally, they take a jab from him and recoil. I’ve seen them recoil and realize that he doesn’t care; you’ve seen the scene – he continues as usual.
Then comes a subconscious reflection: ‘That’s pretty clever; I should try something like that.’ At the first sign of trouble, a Brazilian reacts somewhat like a Spaniard because he saw Zayas react. He absorbs the behavior. While I would say that our Zayas has become more softened in Brazil, I could also say that a bit of Spanish saltiness has made its way into Brazil.
Just like my dear Andreas and my dear Guillaume, I could go on talking about country by country.
Mr. Zayas — I don’t know if what I’m about to say is very discreet — told me the other day that when he was in contact with his brothers, who recently visited here, he noticed how much he had changed while in Brazil. Note that he probably made a resolution never to change, and in many ways, this was a good one, because the real goal is not to come here and lose your identity, but to preserve it. Yet, to preserve it while exchanging…
What is the foundation of this exchange? It is something rooted in the Brazilian soul that I haven’t noticed in other countries. Since I don’t want to be unkind to our Hispanic brothers, I haven’t observed it in Europeans or people from other continents. People elsewhere seek prestige, wealth, and various other things. For Brazilians, what brings the most happiness is seeking and finding affinity. When they meet souls with whom they share affinity, they can discuss things, feel and think similarly, and, above all, admire together. This leads to a series of developments and is what resonates most with the nation’s soul. It’s an admiring soul, capable of assimilation because it values and willingly admires what others have to offer.
“Ad mirare” in Latin is “mirare ad,” meaning to look at others. But it also implies looking with reverence, homage, and admiration. Those who admire assimilate and benefit.
The Brazilian soul is fundamentally admiring to such an extent that I talk about my country with admiration, just as you have often heard me speak of other countries. I speak as a Brazilian, admiring what God has done in the Brazilian people.
This taste for affinity and exchange in admiration is different; it is the very well-being of Brazilians. It is how they feel fulfilled.
I have noticed different movements of the soul in other peoples, such as: “Is this mine? Look here, it’s not yours. You’re different, and I don’t feel joy for who you are. I’m going to differentiate myself from you as much as possible.” Soon, a war breaks out…
Then come the pundits, claiming that the war has economic roots, diplomatic reasons, and so on. It’s true. There were economic and diplomatic reasons, but the underlying cause was this separation: “You are not me, I have qualities that you don’t have, you have qualities that I don’t have; I have flaws that you don’t have and vice versa. Let’s measure ourselves, and from now on let’s look at each other like this.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a cockfight; before the roosters fight, they start circling and looking at each other, challenging one another, which is actually very beautiful. I don’t really like cockfighting, but I genuinely admire the rooster’s challenge. They are magnificent, striking moments as one rooster gazes at another. Their attitudes are extraordinary, and I find them beautiful. I am far from condemning it, but what one rooster says to the other is this: ‘Look, don’t try to get ahead of me, be more than me, or take what is mine because I will react like a wild animal.’
That is not our stance at all. Our stance is not: This is mine, this is yours. No, it’s the opposite: shall we admire it together? Share it together? How wonderful it is to appreciate things as a team! I really admire the fact that you have this quality! I have it too, don’t you think? You like it as well. How incredible! Praise God who created all of this. “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will.” Because thanks to this admiration, true men of goodwill find peace on Earth. We are flexible…
So, I told my friend Andreas that if he went to Spain — Zayas and Rivoir, don’t hold it against me, I’m not looking at you as I speak — no one would comment on his Austrianisms with the same joy, satisfaction, and admiration that we comment on them. And if Zayas went to Austria, no one would comment on Zayas’s Hispanicity as we do here; the same goes for my Guillaume. Precisely the same thing. I’ve seen foreigners in France, and I’ve been a foreigner in France myself, so I know how it works. They don’t see this exchange.
They arrive here, oh, very good, he speaks French, hurray, [the Brazilian] tries to speak French with him… sometimes a bit of broken French that he pretends is very good… c’est la douceur de vivre [it’s the sweetness of life]…
This shapes what the national environment must develop, with a Brazilian touch, in a new territory, a new world built from contributions of diverse pasts, for a future of synthesis. Here is Brazil.
Raise your hands if it is clear to you.
Looking back means looking behind you into the past, so you were definitely looking back. In this dialogue, you notice that the lady, as Brazilian as she was, was exploring the horizons of history through a French influence from the education she received in São Paulo at that time that had left a mark on her personality. And without even thinking of being French or influenced by France, she displayed many French traits in her demeanor. This influence can also be seen, incidentally, in the furniture and decor of her house. It’s not a French design, but the influence of France is clearly present.
All my Brazilian and Portuguese grandmothers fit into French-style frames, creating a harmonious blend. What she taught was precisely that, which, by the way, was not unique to her but reflected the Brazilian spirit of that era: the ability, the tendency to admire everything, to see the marvelous in everything. It is not foolish to see wonder where there isn’t any, but to admire what is marvelous, rejoice in it, be satisfied with it, and absorb it here and there.
This French-style lady found a German governess for her children but also wanted them to learn English and become proficient in Portuguese. As a result, they received an education that was more a reflection of their environment than a specific curriculum. It was a general approach and way of being in early São Paulo, which began to welcome foreigners with open arms and a smile, influencing and being influenced by others in a distinctly Catholic manner.
Hence, in this admiring position, you have Brazilian seriousness. Take the figures or paintings of Brazilian personalities from about 50 years ago; all of them aim for a serious tone. To please the people, you had to be serious.
For example, consider the poses struck by presidential candidates. The other day, I came across a photograph from around 1937 of Mr. Armando Salles de Oliveira, the governor of São Paulo and a presidential candidate, arriving by car for a campaign rally in Sorocaba. He is an uncle of the Mesquitas. He was dressed like a gentleman, very well groomed, with his hat placed on his lap. You could see that he had tipped his hat and set it on his lap, acting like a gentleman as he entered Sorocaba. And the people looked on respectfully, ready to admire him. If he gained enough admiration, he would be elected.
In this photograph of Dom Vital, you see a beard down to here, a jungle from the chin up, stern eyes looking straight ahead, a determined mouth, a powerful chin, and off we go! Very affable, very kind, but look here… and serious. A Brazilian gem.
The old type of baron from the time of the Empire, the old type of colonel from the time of the first Republic, were serious men.
I knew a colonel from the time of the Republic. I don’t want to give his name. He was a skilled farmer and established numerous farms in various locations. He would sometimes visit my house. He was a man of good old São Paulo stock. A big Brazilian—huge, massive, and he sniffed. It seemed that powerful breathing was needed to get everything working. He had a big mustache. When he came to our house, he would sit in a very fragile black lacquered Louis XV chair. I’m not sure why he chose that particular chair. Everyone was worried he might fall and break it, hurting himself, but he would arrive and sit in it anyway. It never actually happened. But he was a man impossible to approach without respecting. He knew how to command respect.
In this assimilative and admiring soul, you see the desire for an environment characterized by admiration, led by people who can inspire admiration and dismiss anyone who is a clown or incapable of admiration. That’s how things should work.
Here is a trait also characteristic of seriousness: When we are serious, we don’t throw foolish tantrums; we have deep incompatibilities but no childish anger. And when our minds are focused upward, we don’t fight over trivialities.
This gives rise to a taste for harmonizing, combining, getting things right, and leading a ceremonious life. The authentic old Brazilian was very ceremonious, leading a ceremonious and entirely peaceful life that was not lacking in protocol. Underneath this protocol, Brazilian gentleness always functioned.
I remember my father telling me about his grandfather, who was very devoted to the Immaculate Conception. He owned many slaves and had to instill fear in them because many were coming from the jungle. Don’t think you can take a man out of the jungle and instantly turn him into a schoolboy. That process takes two or three generations, during which the farmer must serve as a chieftain to some extent. And the chieftain’s role is not one of gentleness.
So he would make arrangements with the overseer. Occasionally, when a black man went too far, the overseer would decide to give him a beating and take him to a spot near my grandfather’s house for punishment. Depending on the situation, he would be beaten with a paddle or whip. But the overseer had an order from my great-grandfather: “You tell the black man quietly that when you raise the paddle or whip to strike him, he should cry out: ‘By Our Lady of the Conception!'” to which I will say: “Stop, stop! He’s invoked Our Lady, all is forgiven.”
You laughed because you understood everything. The black man learns devotion to Our Lady because it was She who saved him. The farmer suggests that if the black man had not invoked Our Lady, he would have been beaten because he deserved it. In this way, he upheld the principle of authority, and everything ended peacefully.
We need to have been told it to understand how something like this could be. This combination is unbelievable, but all of you have recognized yourselves in it.
[1] Translator’s note: The word savage comes from Old French sauvage (wild, untamed), which itself derives from Late Latin salvaticus, an altered form of Latin silvaticus meaning “of the woods,” from silva (forest, grove).