Posthumous Memories (Memórias Póstumas)

Based on a novel by Machado de Assis

To the worm who gnawed the cold flesh of my corpse

I dedicate as a nostalgic remembrance these

"POSTHUMOUS MEMOIRS"

For some time I was in doubt as to whether to start these memoirs...

at the beginning or the end, with my birth or my death.

Usually one starts at the beginning...

but I decided to start at the end for two reasons:

The first is that as I came back to be the author...

more than a writer who is dead, I am a dead man who is a writer...

for whom the grave was a second cradle.

The second is that by doing so, it gets more innovative and modern.

Moses, who also recounted his story in the Bible...

began with his birth, not his death.

This, in fact, is a radical difference between my story and the Bible.

Nature seems to weep at the loss...

of one of its finest characters.

I was 64 and had had a full life. I was single and rich.

To the good friend you see giving my eulogy...

I left a goodly sum. I don't regret it.

...all of this is sublime praise for our illustrious departed.

Just a few people witnessed my departure...

among the malady.

The family doctor was there...

the friend you saw speaking at my burial...

a pious neighbour and the said lady.

Dead. Dead.

I died more than 100 years ago in Rio de Janeiro.

More precisely, at 20'clock on a Friday afternoon in August of 1869.

Should anyone think my death was caused by pneumonia...

he would not be wrong.

However, it would be more accurate to say that I died of an idea.

And not just any idea, but a magnificent idea:

the invention of a sublime remedy, the Bras Gubas Poultice.

The poultice became such an obsession...

that one day, trying to clear my head, I opened the window.

But instead of a gentle breeze, I was struck by a blast of air.

And that' show I caught pneumonia.

The colonization of our country requires railroads...

trains are the lungs of the economy.

I remember it as if it were today...

her appearance at the door, pale, upset, dressed in black.

She stood there for a while, reluctant to come closer...

here yes disbelieving, her mouth half-open.

Virgilia. Yes, her name was Virgilia.

Imagine, we had been in love, long ago.

Who would have thought, two great lovers...

two boundless passions, would have ended this way.

After twenty years, there was nothing left between us.

Visiting the dead, are we?

The dead!

More like trying to get a vagabond out of bed.

Hold on.

Afterwards I'll tell the story of Virgilia.

But first I want to do something very unusual.

As far as I know, up to now, no one... no one...

has ever described his own final delirium.

You, the spectator, already fidgeting in your seat...

be patient, we'll soon get to the main story.

I'm sure you'll find very interesting...

what went through my head in the final minutes of my existence.

First I felt myself being transformed into St Thomas' 'Summa Theologica'.

My hands were the book clasps...

but Virgilia found that position made me look like a corpse.

Then I felt cold...

and thought I was entering the land of eternal ice.

But in fact I was riding a hippopotamus.

And it carried me off to the beginning of time.

What is your name?

-You can call me Nature. -Nature? You?

You are absurd, a fable!

Tremble!

Mistress Nature, please give me a few more years.

I have no more need for you.

The minute that passes means little to time...

only the minute that comes. Go down and look.

Then I saw something amazing:

the condensation of the ages.

I saw the tumult of empires, the war of appetites...

the reciprocal destruction of creatures and things.

Ambition, vanity, greed and envy shaking manlike a rattle.

And moving on to the centuries of the future...

everything began to pass more quickly.

But with the same monotony.

When I recovered my senses, there she was.

I will tell you about Virgilia, but be patient, one thing at a time.

Now make yourself comfortable as I'm about to start.

And watch how skillfully I handle...

the passage of time in this story.

My delirium began in Virgilia's presence.

She was the great sin of my youth.

And as there is no youth without childhood...

and no childhood without birth...

this is how we arrive without effort...

at 0ctober20th 1805, the day I was born.

-He is so chubby. -He's beautiful.

-He's very pretty. -He's got more hair than me.

Very clever.

All I know is that I grew naturally, like plants and cats do.

Shut up and move.

Although cats are less clever and plants less mischievous...

than I was as a child.

A poet once said that the child is father to the man.

I hope it's not true, as since the age of five...

I was known as the "Little devil".

My mother made me learn some prayers...

trying to transform her devil-child into a saint.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

However, more than the prayers...

what ruled me were nerves and blood.

0r,at that moment, the stomach.

...the hero that deserves the medal is the one that stays...

not the one that departs.

-Councillor Aires, a theme. -Sweets!

Eggs, flour, baking powder...

cakes, pies and cheeses.

But I only take nourishment from your sweet kisses.

Admirable, Doctor Vilaca.

You say that, Madame, because you never heard Bocage...

as I did, in Lisbon.

That was something. What skill.

Vilaca would make poems and more poems...

and the dessert never arrived.

When I thought it would be the last, there came another.

Theme!

This crime merited a huge revenge...

an exemplary revenge.

-Go through. -I'm very angry with you.

-Why? -Because...

Because it 's my fate...

Sometimes I think it would be better to die.

Don't say that, my angel.

-Leave me alone. -What kind of idea is that?

If you die, so will l.

What am I saying? I die every day...

of passion, longing, melancholy.

Do not weep...

you don't want the day to break with two dawns.

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed... Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca...

Having described this episode, let 's skip past school.

Tiresome school where I learned to read, write...

hit my classmates, cut classes.

Let 's jump ahead to...

Brazil's independence.

At the independence celebrations...

the country and I were two young men...

fresh from child hood, full of the reckless impulses of youth.

I was a handsome fellow. Handsome and bold.

That night, while the country celebrated its new emperor ...

I selected a new queen.

Beautiful Marcela...

beautiful Marcela.

Ah, Marcela! First passion of my youth.

It took me 30 days and three emeralds...

to reach Marcela's heart.

Is that any way to behave?

Such an expensive present.

The emeralds were the proof that I was the superior man.

But my beautiful Marcela was somewhat lacking in innocence.

In fact she barely understood morality.

Do you really like it?

0urpassionhadtwo stages.

The first was a kind of parliament...

with Xavieras the president and I, the prime-minister.

But it didn't last long. I launched a coup d'etat...

and seized all the power.

I became a dictator without opposition.

I think.

You're trying to pick a fight.

Is that any way to behave? Such an expensive gift.

Tell me what else I can do for you?

This necklace is so lovely...

almost as lovely as the one in Klopstock, the jeweler's window.

Which one?

The one I saw the other day. In gold with many diamonds...

five rubies and matching earrings.

But our love doesn't need these stimulants.

I'd never forgive you if you thought of me like that.

I would never allow anyone to buy my affection.

I have often sold the appearance of affection, I must confess...

but I have kept the real thing for very few.

Marcela was very dear to me.

So dear that very soon my father's money was not enough.

I appealed to my guardian angel.

In fact he seemed more like a bank manager.

Angels and demons disguise themselves in various ways.

Some as bankers, others, jewelers.

To remind you of me when we part.

Marcela! No, please.

Don't do it, Marcela. Don't do it.

I beg you, Marcela!

My angel!

Marcela loved me for 15monthsand$11,000.

My angel.

It 's over!

Over!

Enough, enough!