Estou a reler os Maias. Tinha-o lido quando adolescente. Agora tem muito mais graça. Estou muito mais crescida. Entendo o mundo doutra maneira.
O Ramalhete seria lá em baixo, perto da rua das Janelas Verdes. Sintra. O Grémio. A Casa Havanesa. O S. Carlos. Todo o Chiado. Tudo tão diferente hoje. E noutras coisas tão igual.
Tantas críticas continuam demasiado actuais. Como conseguimos ainda resistir como país?
Mas o que mais me impressionou foi a discrição minuciosa dos hábitos das classes superiores. Pontuavam o dia pelo uso de drogas caras como símbolo dessa dita superioridade social. Que péssimo exemplo foram estes textos. Imitados por tantos leitores pretenciosos, sem referências melhores na vida que pura e simplesmente imitar as classes superiores.
Até o Carlos da Maia em menino bebia! Um copo de Colares, só um à refeição.
E dizia Sr. Vovô escorropichando o copo de Porto. Parece que o Bucelas é que era só para os crescidos. Alguém me explica isto? Seria do grau alcoólico do Bucelas ser mais elevado que o Colares? Ao menos tinham este critério?
Só D. Diogo da forte bronquite tomava uma cházada enquanto todos os outros parceiros da mesa de whist se suicidavam alegremente enquanto se enchiam de dogas legais como alcool, fumavam cachimbo, charuto ou saboreavam uma cigarrete. Bebiam litros de café, chá, ponche, grogs por causa do frio, mandavam 6 garrafas de Châteaux-Margaux como remédio reconstituinte à convalescente de pneumonia, alguém aspirava o bouquet de um copo de St. Emilion. Na biblioteca Afonso da Maia bebia o seu Cognac com soda, antes de ir dormir. E assim por diante.
No entanto este romance tem uma história muito boa, pelo meio do que parece uma carta de vinhos e tabacos de um bom (?) restaurante.
2 comentários:
Lord Byron
From The Michigan Argus newspaper
of Friday 7 January, 1870, page 1, column 5.
Account that Lord Byron had horns, 1870
"A Grave Asserion that Byron Had Horns.
An entire new solution the the Byron mystery is furnished by a writer in the Madras Mail, who says that "his father had it from one of Lord Byron's most intimate friends." According to this lively correspondent, whose story we find in the Echo, "Lord Byron was, in a sense, a devil. Incredible as the thing may seem to the thoughtless, the handsomest man in England had a small tail, a pair of rudimentary horns, and short, squab feet divided forward from the instep into two parts, instead of being furnished with toes. Before he was born his mother had been once greatly terrified by seeing, when in a very delicate state of health, the celebrated picture of Satan Spurned, in the gallery at La Haye, and the result had been the fashioning of her child to some extent after the monstrous form of which the sight had caused her alarm, and of which the continuous recollection could not be effaced by any means known to her physicians. At the time of her confinement it was at first suggested that the monstrosity should not be suffered to live, but the child's body, as a whole, was so perfectly shaped, and its face so wondrously beautiful, that the suggestion was forthwith put aside, and England was not deprived of what was to become in due time one of its chiefest ornaments. Poor Lady Byron never recovered wholly from the shock caused by her discovery of what her husband really was; and partly through excess of imagination, partly in consequence of bad advice from persons who shall be nameless, she felt it to be her duty to insist upon her husband subjecting himself to certain painful operations. But this Lord Byron obstinately refused to do. He urged, and with considerable force, that the peculiar manner in which he wore his abundant curls effectually hid from view the rudiimentary horns; and that, as he never appeared in public without his boots and trousers, none would ever suspect the existence of his other defects, with the exception of his valet, in whom he placed implicit confidence."
Sintra e Lord Byron
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