My second great-grandfather was born in the parish of São Gonçalo, Campos dos Goytacazes, on 7 Sep 1843, and passed away in the same area where he lived his whole life, on 6 Nov 1909, almost two years to the day before my grandmother, his granddaughter, was born.
At first, finding his family was not easy because his siblings did not have the same surnames, and because Almeida was not found anywhere else in his tree. The way people get their family names in Brazil can be tricky, specially before the 20th century. There was no rule, just custom, often capricious.
Once I knew my way around the old issues of the Monitor Campista, José’s family came into focus. His father Manoel Ribeiro dos Santos died in 1879 and legal strife over the inheritance was published in the paper. His brothers, all of whom had their father’s names, as well as their mother, went through a lengthy estate settlement process.
Quitéria Maria do Espírito Santo was my second great-grandmother’s name, and I suspected Almeida was a surname that came through her. I was right, but getting proof of that was an ordeal. José’s birthdate was found on another document, and I could not locate the book with his baptismal record. I found his sister’s though, and it named both sets of grandparents: José Ribeiro de Barros and Anna Maria da Conceição, Manoel de Almeida Rabello and Joanna Maria de Souza Barros. Barros on both sides is not a coincidence, they were all cousins.
José Ribeiro de Almeida Barros married Rita Maria Ribeiro da Motta around 1868. I was able to find 13 children, though two of them remain a mystery, probably gone in infancy. Rita was the daughter of Miguel Ribeiro da Motta, the Baron and later Viscount of São Sebastião. Their children married cousins from the region, and became intertwined with the Wagner and Barroso families that make up the nucleus my grandmother was born into, the people I met and heard about throughout my life.
My grandmother said her childhood was happy, but not an easy one in terms of financial security. She did not elaborate, just saying whatever wealth they had was gone, in part due to gambling. I wrongfully assumed this involved her father. The accounts of two of her cousins who wrote their memories got the record correct.
The family went through a rollercoaster of boom and bust with sugarcane prices, but ultimately, the weight of mounting debt took its toll, and José died of angina pectoris, as it shows on his death certificate. His heart gave out. As Jayme de Barros puts in his memoir, his grandfather died of desgosto, of upset. He also played a high stakes card game akin to poker, often losing.
Cousin Mario Barros Wagner (1907-1967), who left for us a collection of chronicles that details the lives of the Barros and Wagner clan, including where they lived, says he died short after losing his penultimate plot of farming land. For the next 27 years, his widow Rita along with two children and a few grandchildren lived in the Chalé da Fazendinha, the quaint name for a grand albeit mostly shuttered home, where
“… in a drawer on the center table you would find his cigarettes and matches, as well as other objects carefully kept. Vovó Rita stood stoically in the midst of financial ruin. “
Reading these accounts give me a lot of context to understand what my grandmother mentioned in passing. These facts helped shape her family, affected her prospects in a town where money really mattered, and likely were part of what drove her father, Miguel Ribeiro da Motta Barros, to a similar end to his father’s in 1929, taken by sudden cardiac arrest aged only 57, still trying to make a living off the same industry, sugar prices in decline. Grandma Julia left not too long after her father’s death to find her life elsewhere.
