No Brasil, o processo interno da independência e os problemas internacionais suscitados apresentam mais pontos divergentes que semelhantes em relação ao restante da América Latina. Um século antes da Sociedade das Nações, primeira tentativa de conferir institucionalidade formal ao sistema internacional, a aceitação de um ator recém-independente no cenário mundial dependia, em última instância, do reconhecimento da legitimidade do novo participante pelas grandes potências.

Rubens Ricupero. O Brasil no mundo. In: Lilia Moritz Schwarcz (dir.). História do Brasil nação: 1808-2010, v. 1. Madri: Fundación Mapfre; Rio de Janeiro:
Objetiva, 2011, p. 139 (com adaptações).

Tendo o texto acima como referência inicial e considerando o contexto histórico da Independência do Brasil bem como aspectos marcantes do Primeiro Reinado (1822-1831), julgue (C ou E) o item que se segue.

O trecho final do texto sugere que o reconhecimento do Estado nacional brasileiro pelos Estados Unidos da América (EUA) era condição essencial para que outras potências também o fizessem, devido à relevância de Washington no jogo de poder mundial e à amplitude de sua ação internacional na primeira metade do século XIX.

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

In the last paragraph of the text, the cause for Caravaggio’s disagreement with the waiter was

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

In lines 2-3, “at point-blank range” means

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

Based on the text, judge if the following item are right (C) or wrong (E).

From the passage “He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past.” (l.6-7) it can be correctly inferred that the author is of the opinion that the study of history is a futile attempt to reconstruct events from the past.

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

Based on the text, judge if the following item are right (C) or wrong (E).

The author provides the opening paragraph with a cinematic quality for he attempts to create dynamic scenes.

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

Based on the text, judge if the following item are right (C) or wrong (E).

The text is built on images associated with darkness, which suggests that Caravaggio’s life, as well as the quality of his art, was shadowy and shady.

This text refers to question.

Darkness and light

Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world of flashes of lightning.

Caravaggio’s life is like his art, a series of lightning flashes in the darkness of nights. He is a man who can never be known in full because almost all that he did, said and thought is lost in the irrecoverable past. He was one of the most electrifying original artists ever to have lived, yet we have only one solitary sentence from him on the subject of painting — the sincerity of which is, in any case, questionable, since it was elicited from him when he was under interrogation for the capital crime of libel.

When Caravaggio emerges from the obscurity of the past he does so, like the characters in his own paintings, as a man in extremis. He lived much of his life as a fugitive, and that is how he is preserved in history — a man on the run, heading for the hills, keeping to the shadows. But he is caught, now and again, by the sweeping beam of a searchlight. Each glimpse is different. He appears in many guises and moods. Caravaggio throws stones at the house of his landlady and sings ribald songs outside her window. He has a fight with a waiter about the dressing on a plate of artichokes. His life is a series of intriguing and vivid tableaux — scenes that abruptly switch from low farce to high drama.

Andrew Graham-Dixon. Caravaggio: a life sacred and profane. New York – London: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010 (adapted).

Based on the text, judge if the following item are right (C) or wrong (E).

In the second paragraph, the author suggests that information collected under duress is not reliable.

This text refer to question.

While on their way, the slaves selected to go to the great House farm would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. (...) They would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul, and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”

Frederick Douglass. Narrative of the life of Frederick Douglass, an American slave. Charleston (SC): Forgotten Books, 2008, p. 26-7 (adapted).

Regarding the text, judge if the item below are right (C) or wrong (E).

Although the slaves’ songs touched the narrator’s heart, the uncultured quality of their music sometimes annoyed him, as shown in the fragment “The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit” (l.9-10).

This text refer to question.

While on their way, the slaves selected to go to the great House farm would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. (...) They would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul, and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”

Frederick Douglass. Narrative of the life of Frederick Douglass, an American slave. Charleston (SC): Forgotten Books, 2008, p. 26-7 (adapted).

Regarding the text, judge if the item below are right (C) or wrong (E).

The relationship the word “within” (l.6) bears with “without” (l.7) is one of opposition.

This text refer to question.

While on their way, the slaves selected to go to the great House farm would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. (...) They would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul, and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”

Frederick Douglass. Narrative of the life of Frederick Douglass, an American slave. Charleston (SC): Forgotten Books, 2008, p. 26-7 (adapted).

Regarding the text, judge if the item below are right (C) or wrong (E).

In “than the reading of whole volumes” (l.4), the omission of the definite article would not interfere with the grammar correction of the sentence.