13 de maio

Enfim, lei. Nunca fui, nem o cargo me consentia ser propagandista da abolição, mas confesso que senti grande prazer quando soube da votação final do Senado e da sanção da regente. Estava na rua do Ouvidor, onde a agitação era grande e a alegria geral.

Um conhecido meu, homem de imprensa, achando-me ali, ofereceu-me lugar no seu carro, que estava na rua Nova, e ia enfileirar no cortejo organizado para rodear o paço da cidade, e fazer ovação à regente. Estive quase, quase a aceitar, tal era o meu atordoamento, mas os meus hábitos quietos, os costumes diplomáticos, a própria índole e a idade me retiveram melhor que as rédeas do cocheiro aos cavalos do carro, e recusei. Recusei com pena. Deixei-os ir, a ele e aos outros, que se juntaram e partiram da rua Primeiro de Março. Disseram-me depois que os manifestantes erguiam-se nos carros, que iam abertos, e faziam grandes aclamações, em frente ao paço, onde estavam também todos os ministros. Se eu lá fosse, provavelmente faria o mesmo e ainda agora não me teria entendido... Não, não faria nada; meteria a cara entre os joelhos.

Ainda bem que acabamos com isto. Era tempo. Embora queimemos todas as leis, decretos e avisos, não poderemos acabar com os atos particulares, escrituras e inventários, nem apagar a instituição da História, ou até da
Poesia. (...)

14 de maio, meia-noite

Não há alegria pública que valha uma boa alegria particular. Saí agora do Flamengo, fazendo esta reflexão, e vim escrevê-la, e mais o que lhe deu origem.

Era a primeira reunião dos Aguiar; havia alguma gente e bastante animação. (...) A alegria dos donos da casa era viva, a tal ponto que não a atribuí somente ao fato dos amigos juntos, mas também ao grande acontecimento do dia. Assim o disse por esta única palavra, que me pareceu expressiva, dita a brasileiros:

— Felicito-os.

— Já sabia? — perguntaram ambos.

Não entendi, não achei que responder. Que era que eu podia saber já, para os felicitar, se não era o fato público? Chamei o melhor dos meus sorrisos de acordo e complacência, ele veio, espraiou-se, e esperei. Velho e velha disseram-me então rapidamente, dividindo as frases, que a carta viera dar-lhes grande prazer. (...)

Eis aí como, no meio do prazer geral, pode aparecer um particular, e dominá-lo. Não me enfadei com isso; ao contrário, achei-lhes razão, e gostei de os ver sinceros. Por fim, estimei que a carta do filho postiço viesse após anos de silêncio pagar-lhes a tristeza que cá deixou. Era devida a carta; como a liberdade dos escravos, ainda que tardia, chegava bem.

Machado de Assis Memorial de Aires Internet: <www dominiopublico gov br>

13 de maio

Enfim, lei. Nunca fui, nem o cargo me consentia ser propagandista da abolição, mas confesso que senti grande prazer quando soube da votação final do Senado e da sanção da regente. Estava na rua do Ouvidor, onde a agitação era grande e a alegria geral.

Um conhecido meu, homem de imprensa, achando-me ali, ofereceu-me lugar no seu carro, que estava na rua Nova, e ia enfileirar no cortejo organizado para rodear o paço da cidade, e fazer ovação à regente. Estive quase, quase a aceitar, tal era o meu atordoamento, mas os meus hábitos quietos, os costumes diplomáticos, a própria índole e a idade me retiveram melhor que as rédeas do cocheiro aos cavalos do carro, e recusei. Recusei com pena. Deixei-os ir, a ele e aos outros, que se juntaram e partiram da rua Primeiro de Março. Disseram-me depois que os manifestantes erguiam-se nos carros, que iam abertos, e faziam grandes aclamações, em frente ao paço, onde estavam também todos os ministros. Se eu lá fosse, provavelmente faria o mesmo e ainda agora não me teria entendido... Não, não faria nada; meteria a cara entre os joelhos.

Ainda bem que acabamos com isto. Era tempo. Embora queimemos todas as leis, decretos e avisos, não poderemos acabar com os atos particulares, escrituras e inventários, nem apagar a instituição da História, ou até da
Poesia. (...)

14 de maio, meia-noite

Não há alegria pública que valha uma boa alegria particular. Saí agora do Flamengo, fazendo esta reflexão, e vim escrevê-la, e mais o que lhe deu origem.

Era a primeira reunião dos Aguiar; havia alguma gente e bastante animação. (...) A alegria dos donos da casa era viva, a tal ponto que não a atribuí somente ao fato dos amigos juntos, mas também ao grande acontecimento do dia. Assim o disse por esta única palavra, que me pareceu expressiva, dita a brasileiros:

— Felicito-os.

— Já sabia? — perguntaram ambos.

Não entendi, não achei que responder. Que era que eu podia saber já, para os felicitar, se não era o fato público? Chamei o melhor dos meus sorrisos de acordo e complacência, ele veio, espraiou-se, e esperei. Velho e velha disseram-me então rapidamente, dividindo as frases, que a carta viera dar-lhes grande prazer. (...)

Eis aí como, no meio do prazer geral, pode aparecer um particular, e dominá-lo. Não me enfadei com isso; ao contrário, achei-lhes razão, e gostei de os ver sinceros. Por fim, estimei que a carta do filho postiço viesse após anos de silêncio pagar-lhes a tristeza que cá deixou. Era devida a carta; como a liberdade dos escravos, ainda que tardia, chegava bem.

Machado de Assis Memorial de Aires Internet: <www dominiopublico gov br>

Don’t let that scare you away. There is a murder and a fatal church-bell-related accident, but the afterlife in Coco is a warm and hectic place, more comical than creepy. The story happens during the Day of the Dead, when the border controls between life and death relax and the departed are allowed temporary passage to the land of the living. A boy named Miguel makes the trip in reverse, which is not to say that he dies, but rather that his living self, through one of several metaphysical loopholes that the movie explains, is transported into a fantastical world of specters and skeletons, who hold fabulous parties and raucous outdoor concerts.

Nearly as enchanting as that magical realm is the Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, Miguel’s hometown, where he is part of a prosperous clan of shoemakers. The cultural vibe of Coco is inclusive rather than exoticizing, pre-empting inevitable concerns about authenticity and appropriation with the mixture of charm and sensitivity that has become something of a 21st-century Disney hallmark. Here, the importance of family — the multigenerational household that sustains and constrains the hero — is both specific and universal. It’s what
explains the particular beats of Miguel’s story and what connects him to viewers regardless of background.

He shows a certain kinship with other well-known recent cartoon characters. A gifted musician in a family that forbids music, he is a bit like Remy, the “Ratatouille” rat whose kin were hostile to his artistic ambition, and like Mumble, the misfit penguin in “Happy Feet.” Miguel’s quest — a search for roots, lost ancestors and information that might explain who he is — resembles Dory’s journey in Finding Dory. The sidekicks who accompany him, animal and (formerly) human, are drawn from a familiar well of archetypes, and the final round of lesson-learning and reconciliation hits notes we have heard many times before.

Internet: <www nytimes com> (adapted)

Don’t let that scare you away. There is a murder and a fatal church-bell-related accident, but the afterlife in Coco is a warm and hectic place, more comical than creepy. The story happens during the Day of the Dead, when the border controls between life and death relax and the departed are allowed temporary passage to the land of the living. A boy named Miguel makes the trip in reverse, which is not to say that he dies, but rather that his living self, through one of several metaphysical loopholes that the movie explains, is transported into a fantastical world of specters and skeletons, who hold fabulous parties and raucous outdoor concerts.

Nearly as enchanting as that magical realm is the Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, Miguel’s hometown, where he is part of a prosperous clan of shoemakers. The cultural vibe of Coco is inclusive rather than exoticizing, pre-empting inevitable concerns about authenticity and appropriation with the mixture of charm and sensitivity that has become something of a 21st-century Disney hallmark. Here, the importance of family — the multigenerational household that sustains and constrains the hero — is both specific and universal. It’s what
explains the particular beats of Miguel’s story and what connects him to viewers regardless of background.

He shows a certain kinship with other well-known recent cartoon characters. A gifted musician in a family that forbids music, he is a bit like Remy, the “Ratatouille” rat whose kin were hostile to his artistic ambition, and like Mumble, the misfit penguin in “Happy Feet.” Miguel’s quest — a search for roots, lost ancestors and information that might explain who he is — resembles Dory’s journey in Finding Dory. The sidekicks who accompany him, animal and (formerly) human, are drawn from a familiar well of archetypes, and the final round of lesson-learning and reconciliation hits notes we have heard many times before.

Internet: <www nytimes com> (adapted)

Don’t let that scare you away. There is a murder and a fatal church-bell-related accident, but the afterlife in Coco is a warm and hectic place, more comical than creepy. The story happens during the Day of the Dead, when the border controls between life and death relax and the departed are allowed temporary passage to the land of the living. A boy named Miguel makes the trip in reverse, which is not to say that he dies, but rather that his living self, through one of several metaphysical loopholes that the movie explains, is transported into a fantastical world of specters and skeletons, who hold fabulous parties and raucous outdoor concerts.

Nearly as enchanting as that magical realm is the Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, Miguel’s hometown, where he is part of a prosperous clan of shoemakers. The cultural vibe of Coco is inclusive rather than exoticizing, pre-empting inevitable concerns about authenticity and appropriation with the mixture of charm and sensitivity that has become something of a 21st-century Disney hallmark. Here, the importance of family — the multigenerational household that sustains and constrains the hero — is both specific and universal. It’s what
explains the particular beats of Miguel’s story and what connects him to viewers regardless of background.

He shows a certain kinship with other well-known recent cartoon characters. A gifted musician in a family that forbids music, he is a bit like Remy, the “Ratatouille” rat whose kin were hostile to his artistic ambition, and like Mumble, the misfit penguin in “Happy Feet.” Miguel’s quest — a search for roots, lost ancestors and information that might explain who he is — resembles Dory’s journey in Finding Dory. The sidekicks who accompany him, animal and (formerly) human, are drawn from a familiar well of archetypes, and the final round of lesson-learning and reconciliation hits notes we have heard many times before.

Internet: <www nytimes com> (adapted)

Don’t let that scare you away. There is a murder and a fatal church-bell-related accident, but the afterlife in Coco is a warm and hectic place, more comical than creepy. The story happens during the Day of the Dead, when the border controls between life and death relax and the departed are allowed temporary passage to the land of the living. A boy named Miguel makes the trip in reverse, which is not to say that he dies, but rather that his living self, through one of several metaphysical loopholes that the movie explains, is transported into a fantastical world of specters and skeletons, who hold fabulous parties and raucous outdoor concerts.

Nearly as enchanting as that magical realm is the Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, Miguel’s hometown, where he is part of a prosperous clan of shoemakers. The cultural vibe of Coco is inclusive rather than exoticizing, pre-empting inevitable concerns about authenticity and appropriation with the mixture of charm and sensitivity that has become something of a 21st-century Disney hallmark. Here, the importance of family — the multigenerational household that sustains and constrains the hero — is both specific and universal. It’s what
explains the particular beats of Miguel’s story and what connects him to viewers regardless of background.

He shows a certain kinship with other well-known recent cartoon characters. A gifted musician in a family that forbids music, he is a bit like Remy, the “Ratatouille” rat whose kin were hostile to his artistic ambition, and like Mumble, the misfit penguin in “Happy Feet.” Miguel’s quest — a search for roots, lost ancestors and information that might explain who he is — resembles Dory’s journey in Finding Dory. The sidekicks who accompany him, animal and (formerly) human, are drawn from a familiar well of archetypes, and the final round of lesson-learning and reconciliation hits notes we have heard many times before.

Internet: <www nytimes com> (adapted)