That day was Pentecost Sunday. As everyone knows, the feast of the Holy Ghost is one of the favorite celebrations of the people of Rio de Janeiro. Even today when certain habits are being lost, some of them good, others bad, that feast day is still the occasion of great activity. What happens today is, however, far from what used to take place in the time back to which we have taken our readers. The celebration did not begin on the Sunday marked on the calendar; it started much earlier, so that the novenas could take place. The first announcement of the celebration was to be found in the Folias. In his childhood, the writer of these memoirs had the opportunity to witness the Folias, although they were then in their last stages of decadence, so much so in fact that only children such as he paid attention and found enjoyment in them. For everyone else, if they paid heed at all, it was merely to lament how different the celebrations were from those of yesteryear. What went on back then, if closely examined, was not very far from deserving of censure. Nevertheless, it was a custom, and let no one say to an old woman from those times that it really must have been scandalous back then, because he will get a laugh right in his face and hear a tremendous philippic against the celebrations we have today.
In the meanwhile, let us just say what the Folias of that time were like, even though the readers will probably know a little something about them. On the nine days that preceded Pentecost Sunday, or maybe even earlier, a company of boys would go out into the streets of the city, all of them from nine to eleven years old, costumed “shepherd” fashion: pink shoes, white stockings, breeches the color of the shoes, sash around the waist, white shirt with long, loose collar, broad-brimmed or silk-lined straw hat, all topped off by garlands of flowers and prodigious quantities of loops of scarlet ribbon. Each of these boys brought a “pastoral” instrument, on which he played: a tambourine, a machete, a small drum. They marched in a square formation, in the center of which walked the so-called Emperor of the Divine. All of this was accompanied by barber musicians and preceded and surrounded by a throng of “brothers” in tunics carrying scarlet banners and other emblems, who begged alms as the singing and playing went on.
The emperor, as we have said, walked in the center. Ordinarily, he was a boy smaller than the rest clad in a dress coat of green velvet, breeches of the same material and color, silk stockings, buckle shoes, cardboard hat, with an enormous, glittering emblem of the Holy Ghost on his chest. He walked with a pausing gait and a solemn air.
Let the readers allow if it was not a truly extraordinary thing to see an emperor dressed in velvet and silk marching through the streets surrounded by a company of shepherds to the sound of tambourine and machete. And no sooner was the whining music of the barbers heard in the distance than everyone ran to the window to see the Folia pass by; the “brothers” used the moment to collect alms door to door.
As the company marched, the barbers’ music would be playing. When it stopped, the shepherds, accompanying themselves on their instruments, would sing. The songs were more or less of the same genre and style as this:
He’s nothing but a fraud,
That Holy Ghost divine;
He really eats a great deal of meat,
And a whole lot of bread and wine.
That is what the Folia was like, and that is what the godfather and his godson encountered on their walk through the streets.
This episode of the Folia was followed by others that we shall soon recount to the readers. For now, however, let us return to our visitors.
They arrived at Dona Maria’s house and found everyone at the window because the Folia had just passed. Dona Maria received them with her customary amiability. As he entered, Leonardo had glanced at Dona Maria’s niece. Without knowing why, however, this time he experienced no desire to laugh, even though the girl was still ugly and odd—that day, even more so than on the others. Dona Maria had taken it into her head to make her presentable: She had dressed her in a very short white dress, put a kerchief of red silk around her neck, and had her hair done bugres style. Therefore, with her customary visor of hair gone, we can see her face; let us say for honesty’s sake that if on that day she was in general odder, it might be noted that her face was not as ugly as first might have seemed to be the case.
The fact is that Leonardo began to glance at her with no desire at all to laugh; he looked one, two, three, four—in short, many—times without ever satisfying what he inwardly called his “curiosity” to appraise that figure.
For her part, the girl continued on in her inalterable silence and concentration, chin on her chest, eyes upon the floor. But a keen observer might have seen a certain quick lifting of the eyelids and a fugitive glance directed Leonardo’s way.
Dona Maria and the compadre conversed as was their wont.
As they were taking their leave, Dona Maria, addressing the compadre, said, “Listen here; we’re going to the campo today to see the fireworks. We could all go together. What do you say?”
“Yes, we could,” replied the compadre. “I was going to go alone with my boy, but as you’ve made the offer, we’ll all go together. And you’re taking your girl, aren’t you?”
“Oh, certainly! Poor girl, she’s never seen fireworks; when her father was alive, she never went out…”
Unconsciously, Leonardo quivered with pleasure; it seemed to him that this way he might have a greater opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. The girl did not react; the whole matter seemed one of complete indifference to her.
“Well then, we’re agreed,” added the compadre, “and tonight we’ll come by for you.”
And they left.