The tropical fortress-cum-manor of the nobleman D. Antônio de Mariz can be read in the novel as being the European element which appears in the Brazilian landscape to interfere and modify its balance. In that sense, the house stands for the enterprise of the first colonizers in their civilising effort, since in The Guarany the foundation of Brazil is not intended to be an encounter between any civilization and Nature, but of Portuguese culture with a subdued Nature.
When applied to the novel, the Bakhtinian chronotope[1] presents the house as the point where the paths of all characters cross. This delimiting of the creative universe, turning the house into a ‘stage’ for the action about to unravel, may reveal significant aspects of Alencar’s conception of Brazilianness and his project for the construction of a national literature. The image of the house, together with the characters that dwell there, make it a very meaningful example of how Alencar read foreign models and set himself the task of creating national equivalents.
From one of the summits of the Organ Mountains glides a small stream, which flows northerly, and enlarged by the springs which it receives in its course of ten leagues, becomes a considerable river. It is the Paquequer. Leaping from cascade to cascade, winding like a serpent, it dozes at last in the plain, and empties into the Parahyba, which rolls majestically in its vast bed. Vassal and tributary of that king of waters, the little river, haughty and overbearing to its rocks, bows humbly at the feet of its sovereign. It loses then its wild beauty; its waves are calm and peaceful as those of a lake, and do not rebel against the boats and canoes that glide over them. A submissive slave, it feels the lash of its master. It is not at this point that it should be seen, but three or four leagues above its mouth, where it is still free. There the Paquequer rushes rapidly over its bed, and traverses the forests foaming and filling the solitude with the noise of its career.
Vegetation in those regions formerly displayed all its luxuriance and vigor; virgin forests extended along the margins of the river, which flowed through arcades of verdure, with capitals formed by the fans of the palm trees.
In the year of grace 1604, the place we have been describing was deserted and uncultivated; the city of Rio de Janeiro had been founded less than half a century, and civilization had not had time to reach the interior.
However, on the right bank of the river stood a large and spacious house, built on an eminence, and protected on all sides by a steep wall of rock. The esplanade on which the building was placed formed an irregular semi-circle, containing at most two hundred square yards. On the north side there was a stairway of freestone, made half by nature and half by art.
Descending two or three of the broad stone steps, one found a wooden bridge solidly built across a wide and deep fissure in the rock. Continuing to descend, one reached the brink of the river, which lowed in a graceful curve, shaded by large gamelleiras and angelins, that grew along its banks. On each side of the stairway was a row of trees, widening gradually, enclosing like two arms the bend of the river; between the trunks of these trees a high hedge of thorns made that little valley impenetrable.(The Guarany, part I, chapter I, p. 1)
The passage above is basically describing a river and small manor built amidst the tropical wilderness. The river Paquequer is described a ‘vassal’ and ‘tributary’ of the mightier river Parahyba, although, ‘it is not at this point that it should be seen, but three or four leagues above its mouth, where it is still free’. A deeper look into this scene may unlock a world of possible inferences,[2] but a more explicit reference to this sudden ‘return’ in the narrative is the signification of the past (the foundational moment) in the novel, and the key importance of national independence (freedom/Nature). For the moment, I will focus on the isolated position of the building, which is set on a rock, on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by a river and lost in the forest. The image points to the inaccessibility of the house by stressing its defensiveness, which suggests the ambience of a medieval castle. The image also intends to communicate a close integration between Nature and man, proposed by the stairway ‘made half by nature and half by art’. The combination of the raw material found in the forest and the masonry techniques from civilization creates a house which, at certain points, blends with the surface of the immense rock.
The house of Mariz emerges in this scenery as the mark of the colonizers, a nucleus of civilization and culture in a largely unexplored region. D. Antônio’s concern with protection is justified by the inhospitable location and the times they lived in, days away from the city of Rio de Janeiro and susceptibility to the dangers of the early periods of colonization, such as tribal and wild animal attacks. The seclusion in which they were found obliged D. Antônio to maintain a group of forty retainers for protection. Distant from the major urban centre, this group of people living together constitutes a mini-kingdom in the forest.
This little community, governed by its own laws, its own usages and customs; its members united together by ambition for wealth, and bound to their chief by respect, by the habit of obedience, and by that moral superiority which intelligence and courage exercise over the masses.
(The Guarany, part I, chapter II, p. 5)
The community is presented in such a way as to draw a parallel with a feudal organisation. The group seems to be under a control based on an aristocratic ‘ruled by the best’ concept. But while medieval times were regarded in Europe as a celebration of the past, the absence of medieval references in Brazil made Alencar adopt the colonial period as its substitute. He incorporated characteristics which belonged to the medieval imagination in that household, inserted in the tropical landscape. A visit inside the main house will reinforce this idea, as symbols point to the cultural identity and traditions of the inhabitants and the values they are associated with.
The principal room displayed a certain luxury, which seemed impossible at that period in a wilderness like this. The walls and ceiling were white washed, but ornamented with a wide border of flower-work in fresco; between the windows hung two portraits representing an aged nobleman and an elderly lady, and over the canter door was painted a coat of arms. A large red damask curtain, on which the same arms were reproduced, concealed this door, which was rarely opened, and which led into a chapel. Opposite, between the two center windows, was a small canopy, closed by white curtains with blue loops. High-backed leather chairs, a rosewood table with turned feet, a silver lamp suspended from the ceiling, constituted the furniture of the room, which breathed a severe and gloomy air.
The inner apartments were in the same style, save the heraldic decorations. In the wing of the building, however, this aspect suddenly changed, and gave place to a fanciful and dainty one, which revealed the presence of a woman. Indeed, nothing could be more beautiful than this room, in which silk brocatels were mingled with the pretty feathers of our birds, entwined in garlands and festoons around the border of the ceiling, and upon the canopy of a bedstead standing on a carpet of skins of wild animals. In a corner an alabaster crucifix hung upon the wall, with a gilt bracket at its feet. At a little distance, on a bureau, was seen one of those Spanish guitars that the gypsies introduced into Brazil when expelled from Portugal, and a collection of mineral curiosities of delicate colors and exquisite forms. Near the door was an article that at first sight could not be defined; it was a kind of bedstead or sofa of variegated straw, interwoven with black and scarlet feathers. A royal heron impaled, ready to take flight, held in its beak the curtain of blue taffeta that concealed this nest of innocence from profane eyes, opening it with the points of its white wings that fell over the door. The whole breathed a sweet aroma of benzoin.(The Guarany, part I, chapter I, p. 3)
The heraldic decoration displayed on doors and walls claim a genealogy of tradition and nobility. A coat of arms and the picture of ‘an aged noblemen and an elderly lady’ help to stress the aristocratic origins of that family. As with the suggestion in the stairway portrayal, the decoration proposes a mixture of objects from both the kingdom and elements from the forest, ‘in which silk brocatels were mingled with the pretty feathers of our birds’. Here again, not only are there feudal implications in the environment but the author tries to create interaction between man and Nature, implying a sensation of parity between the two forces. However, this integration does not seem to be as smooth as it is presented. In the phrase ‘the feathers of our birds’, the pronoun echoes peculiarly the proposed combination and it will be thoroughly challenged in the next section, which addresses the subject of Nature. In what concerns the medieval hints, if the positioning of the house, the description of the community and the decoration inside the building were not suggestive enough of the connection he is trying to construct; to make sure the reader gets the point, Alencar states that ‘the house was a genuine castle of a Portuguese nobleman’ (p. 4) and in that isolated region it ‘took place of a feudal castle in the middle ages’ (p. 4).
However, moved by the idea of creating a national novel, Alencar seems to know that a distinct reality expects different literary solutions and the appropriations do not seem to have occurred without, at least, an attempt at subverting the medieval picturesque. In rescuing images, themes and symbols that describe the house in the light of the castle, he seems to be pursuing a link with European romanticism. The house of Mariz is a historical ‘link’ that in a given moment congregated the past of Brazil and Portugal. This bond allows him to make use of a pseudo-medieval repertoire. Nevertheless, it is a connection which he intends to destabilize, as it is no longer useful for a recently independent country. The house of Mariz is blown up even before the novel comes to term, implying that the Portuguese contribution (already assimilated) is no longer necessary. The destruction of the household, in the symbolic plan, would signify a rupture with the colonial past and perhaps the belief that Brazilian writers should assume a different position from that undertaken by the European novelists.
The fall of Portuguese imperialism is a necessary condition for the re-reading of the country, and in the novel it seems to be connected to two specific motives. The first one is the murder of a young Indian girl by the dandyish son of D. Antônio, Diogo de Mariz, representing the violence promulgated by the conquerors. This seemingly involuntary assassination triggers the revenge of the Aymoré tribe, who besiege the house, and discharge the fatal retaliation. Faced with the inevitable, D. Antônio is obliged to ignite his secret gun-powder deposit at the last moment. He dies by his own hand, avoiding being eaten by the cannibal tribe. In that sense, the Aymorés embody the untamed natural forces which confront the colonizers. The tribe stands for an uncivilised Brazilianness and the battle between the parts represent the brutal dimension of colonization. Alencar also discards the tribe’s primitivism before the end, as he sees it also has no place in the future of the nation.
However, no less significant to the literal and symbolic ruin of the house, are the schemes of the villain Loredano. The conflict the foreigner incites weakens the internal unit of the house, undermining its cohesion and precipitating its downfall. The evil antagonist represents what seems to be a class struggle inside that society. The reasons for his treason seem to arise from discontent in the social configuration of the community (he is denied contact with the beautiful Cecy, D. Antônio’s daughter). Far from primitive, his intrigues depend on an elaborate plan of action, political alliances and even coercion of weaker characters by means of a ‘paper containing the infernal plot’, validated with ‘seals of black wax’ (p. 37) from a notary.
The house of Mariz was organised to divide people into classes, and in these partitions nobility was a feature to be observed. While the Portuguese aristocracy inhabited the manor, ‘in the rear, entirely separated from the rest of the dwelling by a wall, were two storehouses or porches, which served as an abode for adventurers and dependents.’ (p. 3). The segregation between the people is more than a matter of being lodged in different buildings. There is a wall between the buildings imposing an abrupt physical division. But rather than fencing out the common people, the hierarchic split seems to be highlighting the marooned condition of the Portuguese aristocracy, who seem to call destruction upon themselves by insisting on a pyramidal society. As a result, the ruin of that social fabric seems to be linked to the violent practices and excesses committed by the colonizers, the imposed values of nobility and the restraint on social mobility. The betrayal of the antagonist delivers a blow to the aristocratic class, although it is D. Antônio who commits ‘class suicide’. Loredano’s conspiracies disclose him as a rebellious character, who likes to stir the mob. From another angle, he can be seen as entrepreneurial and egalitarian, even willing to share gains with his accomplices. For that reason I see Loredano as a bourgeois revolutionary, but perhaps, more accurately on a Lukásian note,[3] a representative of the ongoing liberalism of 1857. Once more, Alencar is not impressed by his skills. As a representative of a ‘savage’ capitalism (the kind that employs ‘contracts’ to subdue alleged partners and plot murder), Loredano is vehemently rejected. Again the villain does not make it to the end, being discarded before the dénouement.
The scene of the destruction of the house is extraordinarily gothic, it is compared to ‘those fleeting visions that flash upon the disordered imagination’ (p.140).[4] In this regard it assimilates Alencar’s writing to those Radcliffean categories of the sublime, drawing upon emotional experiences which distort the perception of reality.
The front of the house was in darkness; the fire had control of the other sides, and the wind was driving it toward the rear. Pery at the first glance had seen the forms of the Aymorés moving in the shadow, and the fearful and horrid figure of Loredano amid the flames that were devouring him. Suddenly the front of the building fell upon the esplanade, crushing in its fall a large number of savages. It was then that the weird picture presented itself to Pery’s eyes.
The hall was a sea of fire; the figures moving amid the glare seemed to be swimming on waves of flame. In the rear stood out the majestic form of Dom Antônio de Mariz, erect in the center of the armory, holding aloft in his left hand an image of Christ, and with his right pointing his pistol to the dark cavern where slept the volcano. His wife, calm and resigned, was clasping his knees; Ayres Gomes and the few remaining adventurers, kneeling motionless at his feet, formed an appropriate setting for that statue worthy of a master’s chisel.
On the heap of ruins formed by the falling wall were seen the horrid figures of the savages, like evil spirits dancing amid the infernal flames.
All this Pery saw at a single glance of the eye, like a living picture lighted up for a moment by the instantaneous flash of the lightning.(The Guarany, part IV, chapter X, p. 140)
The whole scene, observed through Pery’s eyes, exposes the Portuguese death-bound codes of honour, based on manliness and Christianity. It is interesting that Pery sees D. Antônio as a statue, an effigy of a dead imperial culture. This reinforces my previous point, namely, that Alencar is looking back to the values on which Brazil was built, but which do not have to be carried into the future of the country. Without denying the Portuguese contribution to the formation of Brazil, and proposing a different way from that taken by the European romantics, Alencar must account for a very recent colonial memory that cannot be ignored but, perhaps, might be surpassed by the creation of a national myth. The Indian Pery and the Portuguese Cecy will personify this myth. The only two survivors from the house are the distilled best of the two worlds and will symbolically represent the mother and the father of the future nation. The connection between the two characters evolves from an initial awkwardness to a friendship, then a brother/sister relationship to possible lovers. As they drift on the top of a palm tree (a love nest?), caught up in a flood with biblical reference, a sexual act is suggested.
Pery’s ardent breath fanned her cheek. A nest of chaste blushes and limpid smiles overspread the maiden’s face; her lips opened like the purple wings of a kiss taking its flight.
The palm tree, borne along by the impetuous torrent, hurried on and disappeared in the distance.
* * *
(The Guarany, part IV, chapter XI, p. 152)
It can be noticed here that instead of turning to a historical past, Alencar projects the conclusion of the novel to the future. The Guarany refuses a ‘wrapping up’; the punctuation leaves the end open suggesting a nation ‘under construction’. At the same time, the union between the Indian and the Portuguese addresses issues of hybridism and multiculturalism in the population. In doing that, Alencar is seeking value (sometimes naively) in what he believed to be the most distinctive and original traces of the Brazilian culture: the Indian and the tropical nature.
When applied to the novel, the Bakhtinian chronotope[1] presents the house as the point where the paths of all characters cross. This delimiting of the creative universe, turning the house into a ‘stage’ for the action about to unravel, may reveal significant aspects of Alencar’s conception of Brazilianness and his project for the construction of a national literature. The image of the house, together with the characters that dwell there, make it a very meaningful example of how Alencar read foreign models and set himself the task of creating national equivalents.
From one of the summits of the Organ Mountains glides a small stream, which flows northerly, and enlarged by the springs which it receives in its course of ten leagues, becomes a considerable river. It is the Paquequer. Leaping from cascade to cascade, winding like a serpent, it dozes at last in the plain, and empties into the Parahyba, which rolls majestically in its vast bed. Vassal and tributary of that king of waters, the little river, haughty and overbearing to its rocks, bows humbly at the feet of its sovereign. It loses then its wild beauty; its waves are calm and peaceful as those of a lake, and do not rebel against the boats and canoes that glide over them. A submissive slave, it feels the lash of its master. It is not at this point that it should be seen, but three or four leagues above its mouth, where it is still free. There the Paquequer rushes rapidly over its bed, and traverses the forests foaming and filling the solitude with the noise of its career.
Vegetation in those regions formerly displayed all its luxuriance and vigor; virgin forests extended along the margins of the river, which flowed through arcades of verdure, with capitals formed by the fans of the palm trees.
In the year of grace 1604, the place we have been describing was deserted and uncultivated; the city of Rio de Janeiro had been founded less than half a century, and civilization had not had time to reach the interior.
However, on the right bank of the river stood a large and spacious house, built on an eminence, and protected on all sides by a steep wall of rock. The esplanade on which the building was placed formed an irregular semi-circle, containing at most two hundred square yards. On the north side there was a stairway of freestone, made half by nature and half by art.
Descending two or three of the broad stone steps, one found a wooden bridge solidly built across a wide and deep fissure in the rock. Continuing to descend, one reached the brink of the river, which lowed in a graceful curve, shaded by large gamelleiras and angelins, that grew along its banks. On each side of the stairway was a row of trees, widening gradually, enclosing like two arms the bend of the river; between the trunks of these trees a high hedge of thorns made that little valley impenetrable.(The Guarany, part I, chapter I, p. 1)
The passage above is basically describing a river and small manor built amidst the tropical wilderness. The river Paquequer is described a ‘vassal’ and ‘tributary’ of the mightier river Parahyba, although, ‘it is not at this point that it should be seen, but three or four leagues above its mouth, where it is still free’. A deeper look into this scene may unlock a world of possible inferences,[2] but a more explicit reference to this sudden ‘return’ in the narrative is the signification of the past (the foundational moment) in the novel, and the key importance of national independence (freedom/Nature). For the moment, I will focus on the isolated position of the building, which is set on a rock, on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by a river and lost in the forest. The image points to the inaccessibility of the house by stressing its defensiveness, which suggests the ambience of a medieval castle. The image also intends to communicate a close integration between Nature and man, proposed by the stairway ‘made half by nature and half by art’. The combination of the raw material found in the forest and the masonry techniques from civilization creates a house which, at certain points, blends with the surface of the immense rock.
The house of Mariz emerges in this scenery as the mark of the colonizers, a nucleus of civilization and culture in a largely unexplored region. D. Antônio’s concern with protection is justified by the inhospitable location and the times they lived in, days away from the city of Rio de Janeiro and susceptibility to the dangers of the early periods of colonization, such as tribal and wild animal attacks. The seclusion in which they were found obliged D. Antônio to maintain a group of forty retainers for protection. Distant from the major urban centre, this group of people living together constitutes a mini-kingdom in the forest.
This little community, governed by its own laws, its own usages and customs; its members united together by ambition for wealth, and bound to their chief by respect, by the habit of obedience, and by that moral superiority which intelligence and courage exercise over the masses.
(The Guarany, part I, chapter II, p. 5)
The community is presented in such a way as to draw a parallel with a feudal organisation. The group seems to be under a control based on an aristocratic ‘ruled by the best’ concept. But while medieval times were regarded in Europe as a celebration of the past, the absence of medieval references in Brazil made Alencar adopt the colonial period as its substitute. He incorporated characteristics which belonged to the medieval imagination in that household, inserted in the tropical landscape. A visit inside the main house will reinforce this idea, as symbols point to the cultural identity and traditions of the inhabitants and the values they are associated with.
The principal room displayed a certain luxury, which seemed impossible at that period in a wilderness like this. The walls and ceiling were white washed, but ornamented with a wide border of flower-work in fresco; between the windows hung two portraits representing an aged nobleman and an elderly lady, and over the canter door was painted a coat of arms. A large red damask curtain, on which the same arms were reproduced, concealed this door, which was rarely opened, and which led into a chapel. Opposite, between the two center windows, was a small canopy, closed by white curtains with blue loops. High-backed leather chairs, a rosewood table with turned feet, a silver lamp suspended from the ceiling, constituted the furniture of the room, which breathed a severe and gloomy air.
The inner apartments were in the same style, save the heraldic decorations. In the wing of the building, however, this aspect suddenly changed, and gave place to a fanciful and dainty one, which revealed the presence of a woman. Indeed, nothing could be more beautiful than this room, in which silk brocatels were mingled with the pretty feathers of our birds, entwined in garlands and festoons around the border of the ceiling, and upon the canopy of a bedstead standing on a carpet of skins of wild animals. In a corner an alabaster crucifix hung upon the wall, with a gilt bracket at its feet. At a little distance, on a bureau, was seen one of those Spanish guitars that the gypsies introduced into Brazil when expelled from Portugal, and a collection of mineral curiosities of delicate colors and exquisite forms. Near the door was an article that at first sight could not be defined; it was a kind of bedstead or sofa of variegated straw, interwoven with black and scarlet feathers. A royal heron impaled, ready to take flight, held in its beak the curtain of blue taffeta that concealed this nest of innocence from profane eyes, opening it with the points of its white wings that fell over the door. The whole breathed a sweet aroma of benzoin.(The Guarany, part I, chapter I, p. 3)
The heraldic decoration displayed on doors and walls claim a genealogy of tradition and nobility. A coat of arms and the picture of ‘an aged noblemen and an elderly lady’ help to stress the aristocratic origins of that family. As with the suggestion in the stairway portrayal, the decoration proposes a mixture of objects from both the kingdom and elements from the forest, ‘in which silk brocatels were mingled with the pretty feathers of our birds’. Here again, not only are there feudal implications in the environment but the author tries to create interaction between man and Nature, implying a sensation of parity between the two forces. However, this integration does not seem to be as smooth as it is presented. In the phrase ‘the feathers of our birds’, the pronoun echoes peculiarly the proposed combination and it will be thoroughly challenged in the next section, which addresses the subject of Nature. In what concerns the medieval hints, if the positioning of the house, the description of the community and the decoration inside the building were not suggestive enough of the connection he is trying to construct; to make sure the reader gets the point, Alencar states that ‘the house was a genuine castle of a Portuguese nobleman’ (p. 4) and in that isolated region it ‘took place of a feudal castle in the middle ages’ (p. 4).
However, moved by the idea of creating a national novel, Alencar seems to know that a distinct reality expects different literary solutions and the appropriations do not seem to have occurred without, at least, an attempt at subverting the medieval picturesque. In rescuing images, themes and symbols that describe the house in the light of the castle, he seems to be pursuing a link with European romanticism. The house of Mariz is a historical ‘link’ that in a given moment congregated the past of Brazil and Portugal. This bond allows him to make use of a pseudo-medieval repertoire. Nevertheless, it is a connection which he intends to destabilize, as it is no longer useful for a recently independent country. The house of Mariz is blown up even before the novel comes to term, implying that the Portuguese contribution (already assimilated) is no longer necessary. The destruction of the household, in the symbolic plan, would signify a rupture with the colonial past and perhaps the belief that Brazilian writers should assume a different position from that undertaken by the European novelists.
The fall of Portuguese imperialism is a necessary condition for the re-reading of the country, and in the novel it seems to be connected to two specific motives. The first one is the murder of a young Indian girl by the dandyish son of D. Antônio, Diogo de Mariz, representing the violence promulgated by the conquerors. This seemingly involuntary assassination triggers the revenge of the Aymoré tribe, who besiege the house, and discharge the fatal retaliation. Faced with the inevitable, D. Antônio is obliged to ignite his secret gun-powder deposit at the last moment. He dies by his own hand, avoiding being eaten by the cannibal tribe. In that sense, the Aymorés embody the untamed natural forces which confront the colonizers. The tribe stands for an uncivilised Brazilianness and the battle between the parts represent the brutal dimension of colonization. Alencar also discards the tribe’s primitivism before the end, as he sees it also has no place in the future of the nation.
However, no less significant to the literal and symbolic ruin of the house, are the schemes of the villain Loredano. The conflict the foreigner incites weakens the internal unit of the house, undermining its cohesion and precipitating its downfall. The evil antagonist represents what seems to be a class struggle inside that society. The reasons for his treason seem to arise from discontent in the social configuration of the community (he is denied contact with the beautiful Cecy, D. Antônio’s daughter). Far from primitive, his intrigues depend on an elaborate plan of action, political alliances and even coercion of weaker characters by means of a ‘paper containing the infernal plot’, validated with ‘seals of black wax’ (p. 37) from a notary.
The house of Mariz was organised to divide people into classes, and in these partitions nobility was a feature to be observed. While the Portuguese aristocracy inhabited the manor, ‘in the rear, entirely separated from the rest of the dwelling by a wall, were two storehouses or porches, which served as an abode for adventurers and dependents.’ (p. 3). The segregation between the people is more than a matter of being lodged in different buildings. There is a wall between the buildings imposing an abrupt physical division. But rather than fencing out the common people, the hierarchic split seems to be highlighting the marooned condition of the Portuguese aristocracy, who seem to call destruction upon themselves by insisting on a pyramidal society. As a result, the ruin of that social fabric seems to be linked to the violent practices and excesses committed by the colonizers, the imposed values of nobility and the restraint on social mobility. The betrayal of the antagonist delivers a blow to the aristocratic class, although it is D. Antônio who commits ‘class suicide’. Loredano’s conspiracies disclose him as a rebellious character, who likes to stir the mob. From another angle, he can be seen as entrepreneurial and egalitarian, even willing to share gains with his accomplices. For that reason I see Loredano as a bourgeois revolutionary, but perhaps, more accurately on a Lukásian note,[3] a representative of the ongoing liberalism of 1857. Once more, Alencar is not impressed by his skills. As a representative of a ‘savage’ capitalism (the kind that employs ‘contracts’ to subdue alleged partners and plot murder), Loredano is vehemently rejected. Again the villain does not make it to the end, being discarded before the dénouement.
The scene of the destruction of the house is extraordinarily gothic, it is compared to ‘those fleeting visions that flash upon the disordered imagination’ (p.140).[4] In this regard it assimilates Alencar’s writing to those Radcliffean categories of the sublime, drawing upon emotional experiences which distort the perception of reality.
The front of the house was in darkness; the fire had control of the other sides, and the wind was driving it toward the rear. Pery at the first glance had seen the forms of the Aymorés moving in the shadow, and the fearful and horrid figure of Loredano amid the flames that were devouring him. Suddenly the front of the building fell upon the esplanade, crushing in its fall a large number of savages. It was then that the weird picture presented itself to Pery’s eyes.
The hall was a sea of fire; the figures moving amid the glare seemed to be swimming on waves of flame. In the rear stood out the majestic form of Dom Antônio de Mariz, erect in the center of the armory, holding aloft in his left hand an image of Christ, and with his right pointing his pistol to the dark cavern where slept the volcano. His wife, calm and resigned, was clasping his knees; Ayres Gomes and the few remaining adventurers, kneeling motionless at his feet, formed an appropriate setting for that statue worthy of a master’s chisel.
On the heap of ruins formed by the falling wall were seen the horrid figures of the savages, like evil spirits dancing amid the infernal flames.
All this Pery saw at a single glance of the eye, like a living picture lighted up for a moment by the instantaneous flash of the lightning.(The Guarany, part IV, chapter X, p. 140)
The whole scene, observed through Pery’s eyes, exposes the Portuguese death-bound codes of honour, based on manliness and Christianity. It is interesting that Pery sees D. Antônio as a statue, an effigy of a dead imperial culture. This reinforces my previous point, namely, that Alencar is looking back to the values on which Brazil was built, but which do not have to be carried into the future of the country. Without denying the Portuguese contribution to the formation of Brazil, and proposing a different way from that taken by the European romantics, Alencar must account for a very recent colonial memory that cannot be ignored but, perhaps, might be surpassed by the creation of a national myth. The Indian Pery and the Portuguese Cecy will personify this myth. The only two survivors from the house are the distilled best of the two worlds and will symbolically represent the mother and the father of the future nation. The connection between the two characters evolves from an initial awkwardness to a friendship, then a brother/sister relationship to possible lovers. As they drift on the top of a palm tree (a love nest?), caught up in a flood with biblical reference, a sexual act is suggested.
Pery’s ardent breath fanned her cheek. A nest of chaste blushes and limpid smiles overspread the maiden’s face; her lips opened like the purple wings of a kiss taking its flight.
The palm tree, borne along by the impetuous torrent, hurried on and disappeared in the distance.
* * *
(The Guarany, part IV, chapter XI, p. 152)
It can be noticed here that instead of turning to a historical past, Alencar projects the conclusion of the novel to the future. The Guarany refuses a ‘wrapping up’; the punctuation leaves the end open suggesting a nation ‘under construction’. At the same time, the union between the Indian and the Portuguese addresses issues of hybridism and multiculturalism in the population. In doing that, Alencar is seeking value (sometimes naively) in what he believed to be the most distinctive and original traces of the Brazilian culture: the Indian and the tropical nature.
[1] Mikhail Bakhtin. ‘Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel’. IN: The Dialogic Imagination. Austin: Texas, 2000 (pp. 84 -258).
[2] Valéria de Marco uses the river in this passage to demonstrate how slavery is approached in The Guarany through language, ‘A submissive slave, it feels the lash of its master’. Her work replies to a common criticism made to the novel, the absence of the African as a contributor to the formation of the country. Because The Guarany is actually set before the slave trade started, Alencar's critics said he avoided the subject. The attack is not particularly convincing as Marco’s work shows. IN: Valéria de Marco. A Perda das Ilusões: O Romance Histórico de José de Alencar. Campinas: Editora da UNICAMP, 1993.
[3] Lukács demonstrates how the historical novel reflects questions in the present. IN: Georg Lukács. The Historical Novel. Lincoln: University of Nebraska, 1983.
[4] Sage calls these moments of gothic misperception la coda dell’ochio, indicating a fantastic vision that is later denied by rational, materialist viewpoint. IN: Victor Sage. ‘J.G. Farrell’s Imperial Gothic’. IN: Empire and the Gothic. London: Palgrave, 2003 (pp. 175-176).
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