I decided to post an English version of my story Memórias de Um Liberal. It’s my first attempt at translating to English anything longer and more complex than a short story, so please forgive any errors (corrections are welcome).
If you’d like some background on the underlying historical setting, you can check this article in Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberal_Wars.
Well, when I wrote this story, which I began at some point during my teenage years, and which took me sometime to complete, three factors influenced me. On the one hand, with the novel The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas still relatively fresh in my mind, I wanted to write a tale of adventure and friendship. On the other hand, I was studying Romanticism at the time and I wanted to try and create a narrative which would include at least some of the characteristics inherent to that literary movement. Hence the somewhat tragic tone of the ending. And finally, to do that I tried to find a subject that would fit into Portugal at that time and since I had always felt a certain fascination for the wars between liberals and absolutists (to which contributed, at the time, the book Uma Aventura em Évora Monte (An Adventure at Évora Monte), by Ana Maria Magalhães and Isabel Alçada, I decided to write around that topic.
At this point, it’s impossible for me to find the time to revise it as deeply as I would like to, not only in terms of historical accuracy but also of the narrative itself, so I will just correct some or other detail about the story and make some minor changes for better language. Maybe someday (but not anytime soon) I will still make that more profound revision. For now, here are the Introduction and Chapter I.
Memoirs of a Liberal
INTRODUCTION
I can’t really say what drove me to write this book. I could perhaps say that I write for the glory of one man – the best I have ever met. But he would be the first to tell me that he didn’t wish to be praised and I don’t want to go against his will.
Maybe it made him happier if I said the book is meant to praise not only him but all our gang, all the people who shared in those crazy years of wars and emotions so strong and sometimes so strange.
Today, they are all dead. I was the only one who survived. I, whom undoubtedly deserved life less than any of them.
Oh, I can almost hear my good friend Diogo reproaching me for my modesty. Well, Diogo, if it makes you feel any happier, I too am a liberal and since I intend to dedicate this book to all liberals, I’m not excluding myself.
How long has it been since our victory? Seven years? No, eight. Eight years. I perfectly remember that day...
Well, I don’t want to start wandering before it’s time. That’s not why I undertook writing. First of all, so that people can not forget how important it is to fight for freedom, and so that younger people have an example to follow, our story needs to be told.
CHAPTER I
It was in the summer of 1820 that Diogo came to live with us in Coimbra. I was only nine at the time and Diogo was one year younger, though no one would have guessed he was the younger one, since he was already so responsible. He was the son of our maid, Cecília.
Cecília had been a maid in my Mother’s home before she got married and had come with her to the Roseiral, where she had continued serving even after her death. But Cecília didn’t live with us. She lived with her husband and their son in a house they had managed to buy and returned to sleep there every night. However, when her husband died, my Father offered to let her live at the house together with Diogo, which Cecília promply accepted, for she really didn’t feel like living alone with her son at the house where she had seen her husband pass away. She sold the house and came to live with her son at the Roseiral.
We became friends almost immediately – not just the two of us but also Maria da Luz, my sister, who was six then – and the three of us quickly got used to playing together in the immense estate that belonged to my family.
At that time, we were just three kids who understood little of the changes happening in the country and didn’t know why my Father was so worried whenever someone spoke of a possible victory for the liberals. However, there was an atmosphere of war and children that we were, we pursued and chased after danger and adventure. And on August the 25th of that same year, there was great commotion.
Diogo and I shared a room. Luz slept with Cecília, for my Father thought that know that Cecília was living with us at the Roseiral, there was no need for my little sister to be alone at night.
But as I was saying, the commotion that day started early in the morning. I used to sleep – and I still do – pretty heavily, but still my Father’s shouting was enough to wake me up. I rubbed my eyes, still feeling drowsy; I sat up on the bed and tried to make out what was happening. I looked to my left and realised that Diogo was also awake and listening.
«What is it?,» I asked. «They’re talking about the liberals again. Sounds serious». «Liberals are always serious to my Father...» «Yes, but I’ve never seen him so angry. Something important must have happened. Just listen to him swearing».
I followed the advice. Diogo was right. My Father was shouting and cursing the liberals so passionately it almost scared me.
«Are you sure about that?,» he asked, heatedly. «You think I would be bothering you with this if I weren’t, Sir?,» replied the voice that I recognised as our former caretaker’s, who now lived in Oporto. «I was there. I saw it all. I came as fast as I could because I know you like to keep informed and I have not forgotten my loyalty to such a generous employer. It is as I say: the liberals have rebelled». «Wait, let’s go into my living room and tell me everything that happened».
Diogo and I looked at each other and we didn’t even need words. We jumped of the beds and still in our nightgowns we went to listen behind the living room’s door.
«So, let’s hear it,» my Father said. «Well, the garrison of Oporto went to the Campo de Santo Ovídio and declared themselves against the absolutist Government. Colonel Sepúlveda gave the order, apparently». «And that’s it? It wasn’t really a revolution, then». «Well, there were no deaths or violence...» «Really, man! You almost gave me a heart attack for some unimportant incident». «Oh no, Sir, it is important. The liberals demand the return of the king and a new kind of monarchy ruled by a constitution. The people were all on their side. You should have seen it, Sir... I think it’s possible that King João IV comes back». «King João VI... King João VI is spineless. He doesn’t have the strength for this struggle. Why would he come back now, knowing there’s no way he could defeat the absolutists?» «It is as I say. King João may be spineless like you say, but he is not alone. The commoners are all on the liberals’ side. Not to mention the bourgeoisie». «Ah, the bourgeoisie!,» my Father exclaimed, angrily.
I should explain that to my Father the bourgeois were the worst kind of people in the world. He hated them deeply. My Father regarded his nobility very highly. Perhaps more than his own fortune, which I am sure he would give up to save his title and place in society. He used to say that being a nobleman, especially from an old line of descent like himself, was something very special. And he feared that things would change.
From the commoners there was no danger. They worked hard for a decent living and didn’t have the time to try and climb the social ladder. Maybe that’s why my Father respected them and was even on good terms with them. But the bourgeois were a different matter. They were financially well-of and had the time to try and reach the nobility’s perch, thus threatening its pedestal. My Father hated the idea of sharing that pedestal with more and more people, and maybe because the liberals made him anxious about that, he loathed them. «The bourgeoisie», he continued «is the scourge of this country!» «That may be so, but that won’t stop them from helping the liberals». «This really is serious. This revolution may be nothing in itself but if King João comes back...» «What are you going to do?» «Nothing for now. I’ll wait to see what happens».
Realising that the talk about the liberals would certainly end there, Diogo and I went back to our room before Cecília would call us for breakfast.
«The liberals must be really bad men», I declared, thinking that only that would explain why my Father hated them so much. «My Father like them». «Well, then maybe we should be enemies». «Do you know any liberals?» «No». «Then there’s no reason for us to be enemies. Who knows, maybe you’d like them». «Do you know any liberals?» «I never got to really know them but sometimes, at night, liberals visited my Father and I listened just as we listened to your Father know».
Someone knocked on our door and a female voice asked:
«Children, are you awake?» «Yes, Cecília, we’re both up». «Then get dressed and come down for breakfast».
We obeyed and while we were getting dressed, we continued our conversation. «Diogo», I asked, «what did those liberals and your Father talked about?» «Well, they spoke a lot about King João VI and a constitution». «What’s a “constrution”?» «It’s not a “constrution”, it’s a constitution. I don’t know what it is but is seems that’s what the liberals want». «And why don’t they give them that thing?» «Beats me!»
Already dressed, we rushed out of the room towards our breakfasts but were intercepted by Cecília, who inspected us to make sure we had not dodged our morning toilette, straightened our collars and tried – without much success – to flatten our rebellious hairs. After that, Diogo followed Cecília to the kitchen where he would eat breakfast with her and I walked into the dining room, respectfully said good morning to my Father and went behind my sister, who was already at the table and who looked at me in furious silence when I discreetly pulled one her blond braids.
«Listen, children», said my Father. «Something important happened in Oporto and I might have to go away for a few days». Luz and I looked at each other and smiled. That meant he would either take us with him or we would have the house all to ourselves, with only Cecília to take care of us. And who knows, maybe during my Father’s absence we could eat breakfast together. Maybe even all the meals. One way or the other, the prospect was to our liking. «Cecília is staying to take care of you but you need to promise you won’t be too much trouble».
With the angel faces all children make when confronted with that request we promised to behave. My Father left the next morning and we saw the carriage drive away and disappear.
Cecília said she was going to polish the silvers, for it was Wednesday and she always did that on Wednesdays. Diogo, Luz and I ran to near the stream that passed through our lands and started playing at absolutists and liberals, either pretending to be the former or the latter, although not really knowing what that meant. «Luz», I said, «you’ll be an absolutist». «No! I want to be a liberal».
I smiled to myself. Luz always liked to do exactly the opposite of what se was told and my intention in suggesting the she’d be an absolutist was that she preferred to be a liberal. «Fine, then. I’ll be an absolutist. What about you, Diogo?» «Hm... I’ll be King João VI», my friend exclaimed, excited by the conversation between my Father and the caretaker the previous day. «But King João VI is in Brasil...» «Then lets pretend I’m King João VI and I’ve returned from Brasil». «And on whose side is he on?»
Diogo and I looked at each other, confused. We didn’t really know what to say.
«Well, I think he is on the side of the liberals», I ventured. «I think so too», Diogo confirmed. And since liberals and absolutists had to fight, we fought. But we didn’t know why they fought and we didn’t know why we fought either. And we won and we lost and tired of all the running around we would stop, and laugh, and wash our sweaty faces in the water of the stream, and then we’d stop being liberals and absolutists to be Pedro, Diogo e Maria da Luz again.
Cecília called us for lunch and as we had anticipated, we were able to eat together. However, our good Cecília seemed immediately embarrassed when I asked her why we had to eat in the kitchen instead of the dining room. «Well, Master Pedro, that would not be right...» «Why not?» «Diogo and I are servants. We are not allowed to sit at the dining room table». «Then why are we allowed to sit at the kitchen table?», wondered Luz. «You wouldn’t be if your Father was here, but since he isn’t and you are still children you’ll have your meals here so that you won’t have to eat alone».
Suddenly, I was curious about something. «I wonder if liberals sit at the same table as their servants». The question seemed to worry and even frighten Cecília, who turned pale and asked, with a tone of disapproval: «Who puts such things inside that little head? Your Father would really be pleased if he heard you talking about the liberals. Never mind that and eat your lunch».
Embarrassed by the effect of my words on my friend’s Mother I took a bite of my bread, chewed it and swallowed but in the short time of that ritual another question was already forming in my mind and I hesitantly ventured: «Cecília... do you like liberals? Or do you think my Father is right about them?» «Christ!», exclaimed the poor and frightened Cecília. «Why would I like liberals? I neither like them nor dislike them». And in a severe warning tone, she added: «Please don’t mention those things to your Father».
Not able to get that animosity against liberals out of my mind I kept eating my bread, lost in thoughts that pulled my away from Cecília, Maria da Luz e Diogo. A scream from Maria da Luz brought me back to reality and I saw, amused, that Diogo was having fun pulling one of her braids, which was, of all our antics, the one that most annoyed my sister. Cecília, who had already finished her lunch and left as alone to finish ours ran to the kitchen when she heard Maria da Luz scream. «Diogo!», she chided. «I told you not the bother the children! Do you want me to tell D. José?»
We all turned pale. What would my Father do if he knew the son of the maid had the habit of pulling his daughter’s hair, even if it was just an innocent prank? I think not even Maria da Luz herself wanted to see that happen. «Well», Cecília declared, realising she had scared us more than she had intended to, «don’t worry. Behave yourselves and I won’t have to say anything to D. José when he comes back. Now go play outside».
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