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- Herausgeber: CLXBX
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
Esau & Jacob is a brilliant and ironic novel by Machado de Assis, one of Brazil's most celebrated literary figures. First published in 1904, this masterful work blends psychological insight, social commentary, and subtle humor to examine rivalry, identity, and the shifting political landscape of a nation in transition. The story revolves around twin brothers, Pedro and Paulo, whose lifelong rivalry begins even before their birth. Though identical in appearance, they grow into men of sharply contrasting temperaments and ideologies. Pedro is aligned with the monarchy, while Paulo passionately supports republicanism—mirroring Brazil's own political transformation during the late nineteenth century. Their personal conflict becomes a symbolic reflection of a country divided between tradition and change. At the heart of their rivalry stands Flora, a gentle and indecisive young woman who finds herself unable to choose between the two brothers. Her emotional paralysis becomes a poignant metaphor for uncertainty in times of upheaval. Surrounding them is a cast of richly drawn characters, including the observant and witty Counselor Aires, whose reflective narration offers both insight and irony as he contemplates human nature and the illusions people cling to. Through elegant prose and understated satire, Machado de Assis dissects themes of duality, free will, political idealism, and the often-irrational forces that drive human behavior. Rather than offering dramatic confrontations, the novel unfolds with quiet psychological depth, revealing how pride, stubbornness, and vanity shape destinies in subtle but profound ways. Set against the backdrop of Brazil's transition from empire to republic, Esau & Jacob is both an intimate character study and a broader meditation on national identity. Machado's signature irony and philosophical tone elevate the narrative beyond a simple tale of sibling rivalry, transforming it into a timeless exploration of division—within families, within societies, and within the self. Elegant, thought-provoking, and quietly powerful, Esau & Jacob stands as one of Machado de Assis's most refined works and a cornerstone of Latin American literature.
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Esau & Jacob
Machado de Assis
Copyright © 2026 by Machado de Assis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter1
It was the first time the two of them had gone to Morro do Castelo. They started climbing up the Rua do Carmo side. There are many people in Rio de Janeiro who have never been there, many will have died, many more will be born and die without ever setting foot there. Not everyone can say they know an entire city. An old Englishman, who had traveled far and wide, confided in me many years ago in London that he only knew his club well, and that was enough for him of the metropolis and the world.
Natividade and Perpétua knew other places besides Botafogo, but Morro do Castelo, no matter how much they had heard of it and the woman who reigned there in 1871, was as strange and remote to them as the club. The steep, uneven, poorly paved slope mortified the feet of the two poor women. Nevertheless, they continued to climb, as if it were penance, slowly, faces to the ground, veils down. The morning brought a certain movement; women, men, children going up or down, washerwomen.And soldiers, some employees, some shopkeepers, some priests, all looked at them in astonishment, who, incidentally, dressed with great simplicity; but there is a grace that is never lost, and it was not common at that time. The very slowness of their walk, compared to the speed of the other people, made one suspect that it was the first time they had been there. A Creole woman asked a sergeant: "Do you want to see if they go to the country girl?" And both stopped at a distance, seized by that invincible desire to know the lives of others, which is often the whole human need.
Indeed, the two ladies were discreetly searching for the house number of the country girl until they found it. The house was like any other, perched on the hill. One climbed up a narrow, dark little staircase, suitable for such an adventure. They wanted to enter quickly, but bumped into two men who were coming out, and pressed themselves against the doorway. One of them asked them familiarly if they were going to consult a fortune teller.
"They're wasting their time," he concluded angrily, "and they're going to hear a lot of nonsense..."
"He's lying," the other added, laughing; "the country girl knows very well where her nose is."
They hesitated a little; but soon after they realized that the first man's words were a sure sign of the fortune teller's clairvoyance and frankness; not everyone would have the same happy fate. The fate of the Nativity boys could be miserable, and then... While they were pondering, a postman passed by outside, which made them hurry upstairs to escape prying eyes. They had faith, but they also feared public opinion, like a devout person who secretly crossed themselves.
The old backwoodsman, father of the fortune teller, led the ladies toThe room. It was simple, the walls bare, nothing to suggest mystery or instill fear, no symbolic objects, no stuffed animals, skeletons or drawings of deformities. At most, a picture of Our Lady of the Conception pasted on the wall might suggest a mystery, despite being grimy and worn, but it didn't inspire fear. On a chair, a viola.
"My daughter is coming," said the old man. "What are the ladies' names?"
Natividade gave only her given name, Maria, like a veil thicker than the one she wore on her face, and received a card—because the consultation was for only one person—with the number 1,012. There's no need to be surprised by the number; the clientele was numerous and had been coming for many months. Nor is there anything to say about the custom, which is old and very old. Reread Aeschylus, my friend, reread the Eumenides, there you will see the Pythia, calling those who were going for a consultation: "If there are any Hellenes here, come forward, according to custom, in the order determined by lot"... Lottery in the past, numbering now, it's all about ensuring that the truth conforms to priority, and that no one misses their turn for an audience. Natividade kept the ticket, and both went to the window.
To tell the truth, they were equally afraid, Perpétua less so than Natividade. The adventure seemed audacious, and some danger possible. I won't describe their gestures here; imagine how uneasy and disconcerted they were. Neither of them said anything. Natividade later confessed that she had a lump in her throat. Fortunately, the young woman didn't linger long; after three or four minutes, her father brought her by the hand, lifting the curtain from the back.
— Come in, Barbara.
Barbara entered, while her father picked up his viola and went to the stone landing by the left-hand door. She was a small, light creature, with an embroidered skirt and slippers on her feet. One could not deny her graceful figure. Her hair, gathered high on her head with a piece of tattered ribbon, formed a natural skullcap, the tassel of which was adorned with a sprig of rue. She was already a bit of a priestess in this. The mystery lay in her eyes. These were opaque, though not always so, nor so much so that they weren't also lucid and sharp, and in this latter state they were equally long; so long and so sharp that they seemed to pierce through one's heart, stirring it, and then returning, ready for another entry and further stirring. I'm not lying when I say that the two felt a certain fascination. Barbara questioned them; Natividade explained her purpose and handed her the portraits of her children and her cut hair, as she had been told that was enough.
"That's enough," Barbara confirmed. "Are the boys your sons?"
- They are.
One person's face is another person's face.
— They are twins; they were born a little over a year ago.
— Ladies, you can sit down.
Natividade whispered to the other that "the country girl was nice," not so quietly that the other couldn't hear as well; and perhaps, fearing the prediction, she wanted that very thing to ensure a good fate for her children. The country girl went to sit at the round table in the center of the room, facing the two of them. She put her hair and the portraits aside.In front of him. He looked alternately at them and at his mother, asked her a few questions, and stared at the portraits and the hair, mouth open, eyebrows furrowed. It pains me to say that he lit a cigarette, but I will say it because it's true, and the smoke is fitting for the job. Outside, his father was strumming his fingers on the viola, humming a song from the backlands of the North:
Girl in the white skirt,
Stream jumper...
As the cigarette smoke rose, the fortune teller's face changed expression, radiant or somber, sometimes questioning, sometimes explaining. Bárbara leaned over the portraits, squeezed a lock of hair in each hand, and gazed at them, smelled them, and listened to them, without the affectation you might find in this line. Such gestures could not be described naturally. Natividade didn't take her eyes off her, as if she wanted to read her insides. And it was with great astonishment that she heard her ask if the children had fought before they were born.
- Brigade?
Thank you, ma'am.
Before birth?
Yes, ma'am, I'm asking if they wouldn't have fought in their mother's womb; don't you remember?
Natividade, whose pregnancy had not been peaceful, replied that she had indeed felt extraordinary, repeated movements, and pains, and insomnia... But then what was it? Why were they arguing? The woman didn't answer. She got up shortly afterward and walked slowly around the table, like a sleepwalker, her eyes open and fixed; then she began to divide them again between her mother and the portraits. She was now agitated.She was breathing heavily. Her whole being, face and arms, shoulders and legs, was too little to wrest a word from Destiny. Finally, she stopped, sat down exhausted, until she jumped up and went to the two of them, so radiant, her eyes so lively and warm, that her mother's gaze lingered on them, and she couldn't help but take her hands and ask her anxiously:
So? Tell me, I can hear everything.
Barbara, full of spirit and laughter, breathed a sigh of satisfaction. The first word seemed to reach her lips, but it retreated to her heart, untouched by her own lips and by anyone else's ears. Natividade urged her to answer, to tell her everything, without fail...
"Things of the future!" the country girl finally murmured.
— But, ugly things?
— Oh! No! No! Beautiful things, things of the future!
— But that's not enough; tell me the rest. This lady is my sister, and we're in a secret, but if she has to leave, she leaves; I stay, just tell me... Will they be happy?
- Yes.
Will they be big?
— They will be great, oh! great! God will give them many blessings. They will rise, rise, rise... They fought in their mother's womb, so what? They fight outside too. Their children will be glorious. That's all I'm telling you. As for the nature of that glory, things to come!
Inside, the old countryman's voice once again continued the song of the backlands:
Climb me up this coconut tree,
and knock the coconuts down for me.
And the daughter, having nothing more to say, or not knowing what to explain, swayed her hips in the rhythmic gesture that the old man repeated inside:
Girl in the white skirt,
Stream jumper,
Climb me up this coconut tree,
Drop the coconuts down for me.
Crack the coconut, ma'am,
There in the cocá,
If it occurs to you,
There's going to be a crack;
I'll laugh a lot,
I'll like it a lot,
Lelê, coco, naiá.
Chapter2
All oracles speak in double voices, but they understand each other. Natividade ended up understanding the woman, even though she couldn't hear anything else from her; it was enough to know that future things would be beautiful, and her children would be large and glorious, for her to be happy and take a fifty-thousand-réis note from her purse. It was five times the usual price, and worth as much or more than Croesus's rich gifts to the Pythia. She gathered the portraits and the hair, and the two left, while the woman went to the back, waiting for others. There were already some customers at the door, with their order numbers, and they went down quickly, hiding their faces.
Perpétua shared her sister's joys, the stones too, the wall by the sea, the shirts hanging from the windows, the banana peels on the ground. The same shoes of a brother of the souls, who was turning the corner from Rua da Misericórdia to Rua de São José, seemed to laugh with joy, when in reality they groaned with exhaustion. Natividade was so beside herself that, upon hearing her ask: "For the Mass for the Souls!" she took a two-thousand-réis note from her purse,She took it brand new and threw it into the basin. Her sister pointed out the deception, but it wasn't a deception, it was for the souls in purgatory.
And they hurried to the carriage, which awaited them in the space between the Church of São José and the Chamber of Deputies. They hadn't wanted the carriage to take them to the bottom of the slope, lest the coachman and the footman suspect their visit. Everyone was talking about the woman from Castelo then; she was the talk of the town; they attributed infinite power to her, a series of miracles, fortunes, discoveries, marriages. If they were discovered, they would be lost, although many good people went there. Seeing them giving alms to the brother of souls, the footman climbed onto the cushion and the coachman urged the horses on; the carriage came to fetch them and drove towards Botafogo.
Chapter3
"May God bless you, my devout lady!" exclaimed the brother of souls upon seeing the note fall upon two nickels and some old coins. "May God grant you all the happiness of Heaven and Earth, and may the souls in purgatory ask the Blessed Virgin Mary to commend you to her blessed son!"
When fortune laughs, all of nature laughs too, and the heart laughs like everything else. Such was the explanation, in other, less speculative words, that the brother of souls gave regarding the two thousand réis. The suspicion that the note was counterfeit never took root in his mind: it was a fleeting hallucination. He understood that the ladies were happy, and, being accustomed to thinking aloud, he said, winking, as they got into the carriage:
— Those two definitely saw a green bird.
Without mincing words, he assumed that the two ladies were coming from some kind of love affair, and he deduced this from three facts, which I am obliged to list here so as not to...To leave this man under suspicion of gratuitous slander. The first was their joy, the second the value of the alms, the third the carriage that awaited them in a corner, as if they wanted to hide the lovers' meeting place from the coachman. Do not conclude that he had ever been a coachman, and that he drove young women before serving souls. Nor believe that he was once rich and adulterous, with his hands open when he came to say goodbye to his friends. Neither this excess of honor, nor this indignite. He was a poor devil with no other occupation than devotion. Besides, he wouldn't have had time; he was only twenty-seven years old.
He greeted the ladies as the car passed. Then he stared at the banknote, so fresh, so valuable, a banknote that souls had never seen leave his hands. He walked up São José Street. He no longer had the courage to beg; the banknote was turning to gold, and the idea of it being counterfeit returned to his mind, and now more frequently, until it gripped him for a few moments. If it were counterfeit... "For the Mass for the Souls!" he groaned at the door of a grocery store, and they gave him a penny—a dirty, sad penny next to the banknote so new it seemed to have just come off the press. A corridor of an upper floor followed. He went in, went up, begged, and they gave him two pennies—double the value and tarnish of the other coin.
And the note was always clean, about two thousand réis that looked like twenty. No, it wasn't counterfeit. In the corridor he picked it up, examined it closely; it was real. Suddenly, he heard the gate open above, and some quick footsteps. He, quicker, crumpled the note and put it in his trouser pocket; only the tarnished and sad pennies remained, the widow's mite. He went out, went to the first workshop, tofirst store, down the first aisle, asking long and mournfully:
— For the Mass for the Souls!
In church, as he removed his robe after handing the basin to the sacristan, he heard a faint voice, like that of distant souls, asking him if the two thousand réis... The two thousand réis, said another, less faint voice, were naturally his, for, firstly, he also had a soul, and secondly, he had never received such a large alms. Whoever wants to give so much goes to church or buys a candle, doesn't just put a small bill in the alms basin.
If I lie, it's not intentional. In truth, the words didn't come out so articulate and clear, neither the weak ones nor the less weak ones; they all made a racket in the ears of conscience. I translated them into spoken language, so that I could be understood by the people who read me; I don't know how one could transcribe onto paper a muffled murmur and another less muffled one, one after the other and all confused until the second one was left alone: "he didn't take the note from anyone... the lady put it in the basin herself... he too was a soul"... At the door of the sacristy that opened onto the street, as he let fall the dark blue curtain edged with yellow, he heard nothing more. He saw a beggar who extended his tattered and greasy hat; he slowly put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat, also torn, and threw a small copper coin which he quickly, secretly, into the beggar's hat, as the Gospel dictates. It was two vinténs; that left him with one thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight réis. And the beggar, as he left quickly, sent him these words of thanks, similar to his own:
— May God increase your blessings, my lord, and give you...
Chapter4
Natividade kept thinking about the woman from Castelo, the prediction of greatness, and the news of the fight. She remembered that, in fact, the pregnancy hadn't been peaceful; but all that remained for her was the fortune of glory and greatness. The fight was over, if there had been one; the future, yes, that was the main thing, or everything. She didn't go to Santa Luzia Beach. In Largo da Lapa, she asked her sister what she thought of the fortune teller. Perpétua replied that it was good, that she believed it, and both agreed that she seemed to be talking about their own children, such was her enthusiasm. Perpétua even reprimanded her for the fifty thousand réis given as payment; twenty would have been enough.
That's okay. Things to do in the future!
What things will they be?
I don't know; future.
They were plunged into silence once more. Upon entering the Catete Palace, Natividade recalled the morning she had spent there, in that same carriage, and confided in her husband about her pregnancy. They were returning from a funeral mass at the Church of São Domingos...
"In the Church of São Domingos, a mass will be said today for the soul of João de Melo, who died in Maricá." Such was the announcement that you can still read in some newspapers from 1869. I don't remember the day, but the month was August. The announcement is correct; it was exactly that, nothing more, not the name of the person or people who ordered the mass to be said, nor the time, nor an invitation. It wasn't even mentioned that the deceased was a scribe, an office he only lost with his death. In short, it seems they even removed one of his names; if I'm correctly informed, he was João de Melo e Barros.
Since no one knew who had ordered the mass to be said, nobody went. The chosen church made the event even less significant; it was neither showy nor sought after, but old, without finery or people, tucked away in the corner of a small square, suitable for a secluded and anonymous mass.
At eight o'clock a coupé stopped at the door; the footman got out, opened the door, removed his hat, and stood at attention. A gentleman got out and gave his hand to a lady; the lady got out and took the gentleman's arm; they crossed the small square and entered the church. In the sacristy, everything was astonishing. The soul that had attracted such a luxurious carriage, thoroughbred horses, and two such refined people to such places could not be like the other souls mourned there. The mass was heard without condolences or tears. When it was over, the gentleman went to the sacristy to give the offerings. The sacristan, pocketing the ten-thousand-réis note he had received, thought it proved the sublimity of the deceased; but what kind of deceased was this? The collection box for souls would have thought the same, if it had thought, when the lady's glove dropped a five-cent coin inside. There were already half a dozen ragged children in the church, and outside,There were some people at the doors and in the square, waiting. The gentleman, reaching the door, glanced at him, albeit vaguely, and saw that he was the object of curiosity. The lady had hers on the ground. And the two got into the carriage, with the same gesture, the footman closed the door and they left.
The locals talked of nothing else that day and in the days that followed. The sacristan and neighbors recalled the coupé with pride. It was the coupé mass. The other masses came, all on foot, some with torn shoes, not infrequently barefoot, old capes, worn-out cloths, masses in chintz on Sundays, masses in clogs. Everything returned to normal, but the coupé mass lived on in memory for many months. Finally, it was no longer spoken of; it was forgotten like a dance.
For the coupé was indeed this one. The mass was ordered to be said by that gentleman, whose name is Santos, and the deceased was his relative, albeit a poor one. He too was poor; he too was born in Maricá. Coming to Rio de Janeiro during the stock market boom (1855), they say he displayed great qualities for making money quickly. He quickly made a lot of money and caused others to lose it. He married in 1859 this Natividade, who was then in her twenties and had no money, but was beautiful and loved passionately. Fortune blessed them with wealth. Years later they had a noble house, a carriage, horses, and new and distinguished connections. Of Natividade's two poor relatives, her father died in 1866; she had one sister left. Santos had some relatives in Maricá, to whom he never sent money, whether out of stinginess or shrewdness. I don't believe it was stinginess; he spent lavishly and gave many alms. Shrewdness.It would; it would take away their desire to come here and ask you for more.
This did him no good with João de Melo, who one day showed up here asking him for a job. He wanted to be, like him, a bank manager. Santos quickly arranged for him a position as a clerk in the civil court in Maricá, and sent him away with the best advice in the world.
João de Melo retired with his writing desk, and they say with a great passion. Natividade was the most beautiful woman of that time. In the end, with her almost sixty-year-old hair, she lived up to tradition. João de Melo was captivated when he saw her; she knew this, and behaved well. She didn't close her face to him, it's true, and she was more beautiful that way than when angry; nor did she close her eyes, which were dark and warm. Only her heart was closed to her, a heart that must have loved like no other, was João de Melo's conclusion one night when he saw her go to a ball in a low-cut dress. He had the impulse to grab her, to get down, to fly, to lose themselves...
Instead, a clerk's office and Maricá; it was an abyss. He fell into it; three days later he left Rio de Janeiro, never to return. At first, he wrote many letters to his relative, hoping that she would read them too, and understand that some words were for her. But Santos gave him no reply, and time and absence ended up making João de Melo an excellent clerk. He died of pneumonia.
Whether the reason for the Nativity coin placed in the offering box was to pay for the worship of the deceased, I neither confirm nor deny it; I lack the details. But it may be so, because this lady was no less grateful than she was honest. As for the husband's generosity, don't forget that the relative was deceased, and the deceased a lesser relative.
Chapter5
Don't ask me about the reason for so much shrinking in the announcement and the mass, and so much publicity in the carriage, footman, and livery. There are explainable contradictions. A good author, who invented his story, or valued the apparent logic of events, would have the Santos couple on foot or in a hired carriage; but I, my friend, I know how things happened, and I relate them as they were. At most, I explain them, on the condition that such a custom doesn't catch on. Explanations consume time and paper, delay the action, and end up being tiresome. The best thing is to read carefully.
Regarding the contradiction discussed here, it's worth noting that in that secluded corner of a modest little square, no acquaintance would have found them, while they would have enjoyed the local astonishment; such was Santos's reflection, if one can give such a name to an inner movement that leads one to do one thing rather than another. The Mass remained; the Mass itself was enough to be known in Heaven and in Maricá. They properly dressed for Heaven. The luxury of the couple.It tempered the poverty of the prayer; it was a kind of homage to the deceased. If João de Melo's soul could see them from above, it would rejoice in the predicament in which they went to pray for a poor scribe. I am not the one saying this; Santos is the one who thought it.
Chapter6
At first, they came in silence. At most, Natividade complained about the church, which had soiled her dress.
"I'm covered in fleas," she continued; "why didn't we go to São Francisco de Paula or Glória, which are closer and cleaner?"
Santos switched hands during the conversation and spoke of the poorly paved streets, which made the car jolt. They were certainly breaking the springs.
Natividade didn't reply, she fell into silence, as in that other chapter, twenty months later, when she returned from the Castle with her sister. Her eyes lacked the hint of wonder they would then display; they were still and somber, as they had been in the morning and the previous evening. Santos, who had already noticed this, asked her what was wrong; I don't know if she answered him in words; if she did say anything, it was so brief and muffled that it was entirely lost. Perhaps it was nothing more than a simple gesture of her eyes, a sigh, or something like that. Whatever it was, when the coupé reached the middle of Catete, the two were holding hands, andTheir faces had a blessed expression. They didn't even notice the people in the streets; perhaps they didn't even notice themselves.
Reader, it's not much you'll notice the reason for that expression and those buttoned fingers. It was already mentioned earlier, when it would have been better to let you guess; but you probably wouldn't guess it, not because you have a short or obscure understanding, but because man varies from man to man, and you might have the same expression, simply knowing that you were going dancing on Saturday. Santos didn't dance; he preferred voltarete, as a distraction. The reason was virtuous, as you know; Natividade was pregnant, she had just told her husband.
At thirty, it was neither early nor late; it was unexpected. Santos felt the joy of new life even more than she did. Here came the reality of a ten-year dream, a creature plucked from Abraham's thigh, as those good Jews used to say, whom we later burned, and now generously lend our money to companies and nations. They charge interest on it; but the Hebrew words are given freely. This one is one of those. Santos, who only knew the part about the loan, unconsciously felt the part about the Hebrew word, and delighted in it. Emotion tied his tongue; the eyes he cast upon his wife, which covered her, were those of a patriarch; his smile seemed to rain light upon the beloved person, blessed and beautiful among the beautiful.
Nativity didn't happen right away; little by little it was overcome, and it already had the expression of hope and motherhood. In the first few days, the symptoms disconcerted our friend. It's hard to say it, but it's true. There went dances and...Parties, freedom and leisure were all there. Natividade was already in the high society of the time; she had just entered it with such flair that it seemed she had been born there. She corresponded with great ladies, was familiar with many, and spoke on a first-name basis with some. She not only had this house in Botafogo, but also another in Petrópolis; not only a car, but also a box at the Teatro Lírico, not to mention the balls at the Cassino Fluminense, those of her friends and her own; in short, the entire repertoire of elegant life. She was mentioned in the newspapers, belonging to that dozen or so planetary names that figure among the plebeian stars. Her husband was a capitalist and director of a bank.
In the midst of all this, what was coming now, a child that would deform her for months, force her to retreat, demand her nights, cause her teething problems and all the rest? Such was the mother's first feeling, and her first impulse was to crush the pregnancy. It created anger towards her husband. The second feeling was better. Motherhood, arriving at midday, was like a new and fresh dawn. Natividade saw the figure of her son or daughter playing on the lawn of the farm or in the lap of the nanny, at three years of age, and this image would give her the appearance of someone in their early twenties at the age of thirty-four...
That's what reconciled her with her husband. I'm not exaggerating; I don't wish this lady any ill will either. Some would be afraid, most would love her. The conclusion is that, through one door or another, love or vanity, what the embryo wants is to enter life. Caesar or João Fernandes, it's all about living, securing the dynasty, and leaving this world as late as possible.
The couple walked in silence. Upon reaching Botafogo Beach, the cove offered its usual taste. The houseThe distance was revealed, magnificent; Santos delighted in seeing it, gazed at it, grew with it, climbed up through it. The statuette of Narcissus, in the middle of the garden, smiled at their entrance, the sand turned to grass, two swallows crossed above the fountain, symbolizing in the air the joy of both. The same ceremony upon their descent. Santos paused for a few moments to watch the coupé turn around, leave, and return to the coach house; then he followed the woman who entered the hall.
Chapter7
Upstairs, Perpétua, Natividade's sister who had accompanied her to the Castle, was waiting for them, and she stayed there in the car, where I left them to recount the boys' background.
So? Were there many people?
No, nobody; fleas.
Perpetua also hadn't understood the church's choice. As for the competition, it always seemed to her that there would be little or none; but her brother-in-law was coming in, and she kept quiet about the rest. She was a circumspect person, not easily swayed by a careless word or gesture. However, she couldn't contain her astonishment when she saw her brother-in-law enter and give his wife a long, tender embrace, sealed with a kiss.
"What is that?" she exclaimed, astonished.
Without noticing the woman's embarrassment, Santos hugged his sister-in-law, and was about to kiss her too, if she hadn't recoiled in time and forcefully.
— What's this? Did you win the jackpot in Spain?
No, something better, new people.
Santos had preservedSome gestures and ways of speaking from the early years, which the reader wouldn't exactly call familiar; nor is it necessary to call them anything. Perpétua, accustomed to them, ended up smiling and congratulating him. By then, Natividade had left them to go and undress. Santos, somewhat regretting his outburst, became serious and talked about the Mass and the church. He agreed that it was decrepit and tucked away in a corner, but cited spiritual reasons. That prayer was always prayer, wherever the soul spoke to God. That the Mass, strictly speaking, didn't necessarily need an altar; the rite and the priest were enough for the sacrifice. Perhaps these reasons weren't exactly his own, but heard from someone, memorized effortlessly and repeated with conviction. His sister-in-law nodded in agreement. Then they talked about the deceased relative and piously agreed that he was an ass;—they didn't say this name, but the totality of their assessments led to it, plus honest and most honest.
"It was a gem," Santos concluded.
That was the final word of the obituary; peace to the dead. From then on, the sovereignty of the dawning child prevailed. Habits didn't change in the early days, and visits and dances continued as before, until little by little, Natividade withdrew completely from her home. Her friends came to see her. Her male friends came to visit her or play cards with her husband.
Natividade wanted a son, Santos a daughter, and each pleaded their choice with such good reasons that they ended up changing their minds. Then she would keep the daughter, dressing her in the finest lace and cambric, while he would put a gown on the young lawyer, give him a seat in parliament, and so on.in the ministry. He also taught him how to get rich quickly; and he would help him by starting with a savings account at the Savings Bank, from the day he was born until he was twenty-one. Sometimes, at night, if they were alone, Santos would take a pencil and draw the figure of his son, with a mustache—or else he would sketch a vaporous girl.
"Leave it, Augustine," his wife told him one night; "you'll always be a child."
And soon after, she found herself drawing the figure of her son or daughter from words, and together they chose the color of their eyes, hair, complexion, and height. You see, she too was a child. Motherhood has these inconsistencies, happiness too, and finally hope, which is the childlike innocence of the world.
Perfection would be the birth of a couple. That way, the wishes of the father and mother would be fulfilled. Santos considered consulting a spiritualist about this. He was beginning to be initiated into this religion, and his faith was both fresh and firm. But his wife objected; rather than consult someone, she would rather consult the cabocla of Castelo, the famous fortune teller of the time, who discovered lost things and predicted the future. However, she also refused, as it was unnecessary. Why would she consult someone about a doubt that would be clarified months later? Santos thought that consulting the cabocla would be imitating the superstitions of lowly people; but his sister-in-law countered that this was not the case, and cited a recent case of a distinguished person, a municipal judge, whose appointment had been announced by the cabocla.
"Perhaps the Minister of Justice likes the country girl," Santos explained.
The two laughed at the joke, and so the chapter of the riddle closed, only to be reopened later.For now, let the fetus develop, let the child move and thrash about, as if impatient to be born. In truth, the mother suffered greatly during the pregnancy, and especially in the last weeks. She was trying to bring forth a general who was beginning the campaign of life, unless she was a couple learning to stop loving each other at the last minute.
Chapter8
Neither a couple nor a general. On April 7, 1870, a pair of men so alike were born that they seemed like shadows of each other, if it wasn't simply the impression of the eye, which saw double.
They expected everything, except for the two twins, and even though the surprise was great, the love was no less. This is understood without needing to insist, just as it is understood that the mother gave both sons that whole, divided loaf of bread from the poet; I add that the father did the same. He spent the early days contemplating the boys, comparing them, measuring them, weighing them. They had the same weight and grew at the same rate. The change was happening in a single way. The long faces, brown hair, thin fingers, and such that, when the fingers of one's right hand were crossed with those of the other's left, one could not tell that they belonged to two different people. They would have different personalities, but for now they were the same oddlings. They began to smile on the same day. The same day he saw them baptized.
Before the birth, they had agreed on the name.The name would be chosen from the father's or mother's name, depending on the child's sex. Since it was a pair of boys, and there was no masculine form of the mother's name, the father didn't want only his name to be used, so they started searching for others. The mother suggested French or English names, according to the novels she read. Some fashionable Russian novels suggested Slavic names. The father accepted some names, but consulted others, and never reached a definitive opinion. Usually, those consulted suggested another name, which wasn't accepted at home. They also tried the old Portuguese onomastics, but without better luck. One day, while Perpétua was at Mass, she recited the Creed, noticed the words: "...the holy apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul," and could barely finish the prayer. She had discovered the names; they were simple and twin names. The parents agreed with her, and the dispute ended.
Perpétua's joy was almost as great as her father's and mother's, if not greater. It wasn't greater, nor as profound, but it was great, even if brief. Finding the names was almost as valuable as having the children. A widow, childless, she didn't consider herself incapable of having them, and naming them was something. She was five or six years older than her sister. She had married an artillery lieutenant who died a captain in the Paraguayan War. She was shorter than she was tall, and she was plump, unlike Natividade who, while not thin, didn't have the same curves, and was tall and straight. Both were bursting with health.
"Peter and Paul," Perpetua said to her sister and brother-in-law, "when I prayed these two names I felt something in my heart..."
"You'll be godmother to one," said the sister.
The little ones, who were distinguished by a colored ribbon,They began to receive gold medals, one with the image of Saint Peter, the other with that of Saint Paul. The confusion did not subside immediately, but later, slowly and gradually, the resemblance became so great that those who were warned often, or always, mistook them. The mother, however, did not need any great external signs to know which of those two pieces of herself were. The wet nurses, despite distinguishing them from each other, did not fail to resent each other because of the resemblance of their "adopted children." Each claimed that hers was more beautiful. Natividade agreed with both.
Pedro would be a doctor, Paulo a lawyer; such was their first choice of professions. But soon after, they changed careers. They also considered sending one of them into engineering. The navy appealed to their mother, due to the particular distinction of the school. It only had the drawback of the first voyage being far away; but Natividade thought of lobbying the minister. Santos spoke of making one of them a banker, or both. Thus they passed their idle hours. Close friends of the house got involved in the calculations. Some even considered making them ministers, judges, bishops, cardinals...
"I'm not asking for that much," the father said.
Natividade said nothing to strangers, only smiled, as if it were a Saint John's Day celebration, a roll of the dice and reading the corresponding number from a fortune book. It didn't matter; deep down she longed for some brilliant destiny for her children. She truly believed, hoped, prayed at night, asked Heaven to make them great men.
One of the nurses, apparently Peter's, knowing about those anxieties and conversations, asked Nativity.Why didn't he consult the woman from Castelo? He claimed that she could predict everything, what was and what would become; she knew the winning number, but she wouldn't say what it was or buy a ticket so as not to steal from the chosen ones of Our Lord. It seemed she was sent by God.
The other nanny confirmed the news and added more. She knew people who had lost and found jewels and slaves. The police themselves, when they hadn't just caught a criminal, would go to the Castle to speak to the woman and come down knowing the truth; that's why they didn't throw her out, as the envious were asking. Many people wouldn't embark without first climbing the hill. The woman explained dreams and thoughts, cured ailments...
At dinner, Natividade repeated to her husband the memory of the wet nurses. Santos shrugged. Then he examined, laughing, the wisdom of the country girl; especially her lucky break; it was incredible that, knowing the number, she didn't buy a ticket. Natividade thought that was the hardest thing to explain, but it could be a popular invention. "On ne prête qu'aux riches," she added, laughing. Her husband, who had been with a judge the previous evening, repeated his words that "until the police put an end to the scandal..." The judge hadn't finished. Santos finished with a vague gesture.
"But you're a spiritualist," the woman pointed out.
"Excuse me, let's not get confused," he replied gravely.
Yes, she could agree to a spiritualist consultation; she had already thought about it. Some spirit could tell her the truth instead of a fake fortune teller... NativityShe defended the woman from the countryside. People in society spoke seriously of her. She didn't want to confess yet that she had faith, but she did. Her refusal to go before was naturally due to the inadequacy of her motive, which gave her the negative force. What did it matter to know the sex of her child? Knowing the destiny of the two was more imperative and useful. Old ideas instilled in her as a child were now emerging from her brain and descending to her heart. She imagined going with the little ones to Castle Hill, as a kind of outing... For what? To confirm her hope that they would be great men. The opposite prediction hadn't crossed her mind. Perhaps the reader, in the same situation, would wait for destiny; but the reader, besides not believing (not everyone believes), may not be more than twenty or twenty-two years old, and will have the patience to wait. Natividade, to herself, confessed to being thirty-one, and feared not seeing the greatness of her children. It's possible I might see her, since people also die old, and sometimes of old age, but would I have the same pleasure?
That evening, the topic of conversation was the woman from Castelo, at Santos's initiative, who repeated the opinions from the previous evening and dinner. Some of the visitors recounted what they had heard about her. Natividade didn't sleep that night until she got her husband to let her and her sister go to see the woman. There was nothing to lose; all they needed to do was take the children's portraits and a little of their hair. The nannies wouldn't know anything about the adventure.
On the appointed day, the two of them got into the car, between seven and eight o'clock, under the pretext of going for a drive, and off they went to Rua da Misericórdia. You already know that they got out there, between the church of São José and the Chamber of Deputies, and walked up that street to Rua do Carmo.where it meets the slope of Castelo. Going up, they hesitated, but mother was mother, and now it wouldn't be long before they heard their fate. You saw that they went up, that they came down, they gave the two thousand réis to the souls, got into the car and returned to Botafogo.
Chapter9
In Catete, a coupé and a Victoria crossed paths and stopped for a moment. A man jumped out of the Victoria and walked towards the coupé. It was Natividade's husband, who was now going to his office, a little later than usual, having waited for his wife's return. He was thinking about her and the business of the market, the children and the Rio Branco Law, then being debated in the Chamber of Deputies; the bank was a creditor of the agricultural sector. He was also thinking about the woman from Castelo and what she might have said to his wife...
